


Something Old

by TheWeaverofWorlds



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bisexual Grantaire, Emotional Manipulation, Eventual Enjolras/Grantaire, F/M, Flashbacks, Gaslighting, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Masturbation, Mentions of Rape, Mentions of attempted suicide, Minor Joly/Bossuet Laigle/Musichetta, Misunderstandings, Pining Enjolras, References to Illness, Sad with a Happy Ending, Smut, Suicidal Thoughts, Unplanned Pregnancy, Verbal Abuse, mentions of physical abuse, minor Grantaire's sister/ Floreal, poc bahorel, poc eponine
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-05
Updated: 2018-04-02
Packaged: 2018-04-13 01:37:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 21
Words: 66,926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4502808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheWeaverofWorlds/pseuds/TheWeaverofWorlds
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Enjolras never expected to meet his high school sweetheart under such circumstances. Seeing Grantaire again brings up a lot of unresolved emotions for him, especially now that the other is engaged. After chatting with him some more, Enjolras realizes that he is still very much in love with Grantaire. And it seems like the other may have feelings for him too. The only problems seem to be a lot of misunderstandings, and a very impatient fiancee. But all is not what it seems in R's engagement, and impatience can become something much worse.<br/>Quite simply, this is a story about a wedding.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Enjolras had pictured meeting Grantaire again a thousand different ways, but not like this. The day had started like any other. He had risen, albeit reluctantly, to the sound of his alarm clock. Managed a hasty breakfast, before bidding goodbye to his roommate, Courfeyrac. Just like any other day, Enjolras had ridden his bike down the road to the Cafe Musain where he started his shift. He had been working peaceably for the past two hours, taking people's orders and delivering their food, until Cosette, a coworker, told him there was a party of four at table seven. And that's when he caught sight of dark curls that once upon a time he had been intimately familiar with. There was no doubt about it. It was Grantaire. He was sitting with his parents and had his arm around the shoulders of a young woman. They seemed to be chatting easily as they waited for their server. As they waited for Enjolras.

 

Taking a deep breath, as if to gain some composure, Enjolras managed to walk over to the table.

 

“Good morning, I'm Enjolras and I'll be your server for today. What can I get you to drink?” Enjolras could feel Grantaire's eyes on him instantly when he had said his name, but instead he forced himself to look at Grantaire's father.

 

“Enjolras, dear, we didn't know you worked here,” Grantaire's mother, Helene said kindly.

 

Enjolras gave a nervous laugh. She had always been kind to him. “Helps pay the medical bills.”

 

“Darling, who is this?” the strange young woman asked staring intently at Enjolras. For the first time Enjolras looked at her. She was pretty, a petite young woman with her blonde hair pinned up in a fashionable manner. She was also very pale and under her calculating glare Enjolras seemed to falter.

 

“Ah, this is Enjolras. An old family friend,” Grantaire offered smoothly. “Enjolras, meet Charla. My fiancee.”

 

Enjolras' chest tightened at the words, but he managed to smile and offer his congratulations. “Now, what can I offer you to drink?”

 

Enjolras scribbled down their orders, and tried his best to walk away calmly.

 

About ten minutes later Cosette found him hiding in the kitchens. “Is everything alright, Enjolras? You look as if you've seen a ghost.”

 

“You could say that again,” Enjolras gritted through his teeth.

 

“What happened? Is everything alright? Is it your mother-”

 

“No. No.” He shook his head resolutely. “It's the customers at table seven.”

 

“What about them?” Cosette asked. Cosette was new in town. She had only moved there a few years back when her father had decided that a small town was the perfect place to cultivate his hobby of bee keeping.

 

“The man is my ex,” Enjolras stated.

 

Cosette cooed in sympathy. “That must be rough. When was the last time you saw him?”

 

“Seven years ago,” Enjolras let out a brittle laugh. “Right before senior year started.”

 

“Wow seven years?” Cosette seemed surprised. And she had every right to be. A normal person would have gotten over their ex in seven years. A normal person would have moved on, especially if they had been doing the dumping. But Enjolras wasn't exactly normal.

 

“Fuck.” Enjolras mumbled tugging at his curls by their roots. It was a gesture he didn't do often, but when he did, his friends knew that he was stressed or anxious about something. “God. He's out there with his fiancee and everything is normal...and I'm hiding in the kitchen like a freak.”

 

“Hey I'm sure he must think it awkward too,” Cosette said kindly. “But it has been seven years. Things can't be so bad-”

 

“What a rose colored world you live in,” he sounded sad. Morose, would be a better word. “Their drinks are ready...guess I've got to go face them again.”

 

Cosette just offered her kindest smile, before grabbing a plate of eggs and making her way back to her customers.

 

Smoothing out his apron, and grabbing the tray of drinks, Enjolras managed to make it back out into the cafe. He forced his feet back in the direction of their table and carefully set out the drinks, two chamomile teas for Helene and her husband, a glass of iced water for Charla, and a black coffee for Grantaire. “Do you all know what you would like to order?”

 

“I'll have the eggs Benedict over easy with bacon,” Augustin, Helene's husband, started.

 

“Just the french toast, with a side of fruit,” Helene beamed up at him.

 

“I'll have the Belgian waffles, side of sausage,” Grantaire ordered easily.

 

His fiancee looked up at Enjolras with a bored expression. “I'll have scrambled eggs with rye toast on the side. Extra crispy.”

 

Enjolras nodded, took the menus and headed off to the other tables as quick was socially acceptable. It wasn't long enough before the food was ready, and he had to go deliver it to them. As he approached the table, he overheard a bit of their conversation.

 

“So when are you thinking of having the wedding?” Helene asked eagerly.

 

“We were thinking a summer wedding,” Charla replied. “In the city.”

 

“Are you sure? We've got a lovely little chapel here,” Augustin said, only partially joking. “It was where our little 'Taire was baptized.”

 

“Quite sure,” Charla said definitively.

 

“A summer wedding,” whistled Helene. “That's quite a lot of work to do.”

 

“We have a schedule.”

 

Grantaire laughed, “don't worry maman. A short engagement is what we both want.”

 

Helene smiled, but it seemed uneasy. It was at this moment that Enjolras delivered the hot food, knowing that he couldn't really stall any longer. It didn't take long for them to eat and then ask for the bill. As soon as that was paid they left, but not before Helene had touched his arm and murmured how nice it was to see him, and that she hoped his mother was feeling better. It was kind, but unnecessary.

 

“Hey, Enjolras!” Enjolras turned to see Charlie, the busboy come up to him. “Found this at table seven.”

 

With a short nod of thanks, Enjolras stuffed the napkin in his pocket, and continued his shift. By noon he was off work, and decided to call up Combeferre who was sure to have some advice.

 

“Hey can we meet up? Something urgent has come up and we need to talk,” Enjolras said a bit breathlessly.

 

“Yeah of course. Is everything alright?” Combeferre asked, concern evident in his voice.

 

“Not really. Can I swing by your place?”

 

“Yeah come on around,” Combeferre replied. “I'll see you shortly.”

 

Enjolras got on his old bike and rode down the street to Combeferre's apartment. It wasn't far, and for that Enjolras was grateful. He was let in immediately, and offered something to drink.

 

“So what's wrong?”

 

“I saw Grantaire.” 

 

“What?” Combeferre had been there when Enjolras had dumped Grantaire in high school. He had seen how much it had hurt the teen to do it, and he was one of the few who knew why Enjolras had dumped him. “Where?”

 

“They were at Musain during my shift,” Enjolras explained, tugging at his fingers nervously.

 

“They? Who exactly is they?” Combeferre asked patiently.

 

“Grantaire, his parents, and,” here Enjolras swallowed, his mouth was dry as sandpaper, “and his fiancee.”

 

“Grantaire's getting married?!”

 

“Apparently,” muttered Enjolras.

 

“I'm sorry, Enjolras. I can't imagine what this must be like for you,” Combeferre murmured.

 

“I should be fine,” protested Enjolras weakly. “I dumped him when we were seventeen. That was years ago. I should be over him. Right?”

 

Combeferre's heart broke at how insecure Enjolras sounded. “I don't know about should... You're welcome to feel however you want towards Grantaire, but whether you act on it. That's up to you.”

 

“Yes. Well now I can't! He's engaged! To a woman!” Enjolras seethed.

 

“Did you talk to him at all?” Combeferre asked maintaining a calm tone.

 

Enjolras slumped even further into the couch. “No. I was working...and he was there having brunch with his family...and his fiancee.”

 

“What's she like?” Combeferre asked.

 

“Beautiful.” Enjolras admitted, although a bit petulantly. “She's probably perfect. She better be. Grantaire deserves the best.”

 

Combeferre put his hand on Enjolras' arm. “I think you need to talk to him.”

 

“What for? Tell him I've still got feelings for him? That he can't marry this woman because, why? What exactly can I say to him?” Enjolras asked, he was angry again.

 

“Get some closure?” offered Combeferre. “Look, I'm not saying this situation is great, but maybe this will allow you to move on. You dumped him when you were seventeen, and you're still not over him. Maybe it's time you are.”

 

Enjolras nodded. He needed to get some fresh air to think. He thanked Combeferre for listening before he went out again. This time he headed toward the park. It was only there that he remembered the napkin folded in his pocket.

 

Carefully he opened it. On it were some doodles that Enjolras very distinctly recognized as Grantaire's, as well as his loopy handwriting. E- it said, it was lovely to see you again. R.

 

And that's when Enjolras broke down and finally let his emotions get the best of him. And he began to cry.


	2. Chapter 2

It was beginning to get dark, and still Enjolras hadn't moved from the park bench. He had stopped crying hours ago, but he still remained curled up on the bench. It was early March, and he was starting to get a bit chilly. His joints seemed frozen in place, and still he didn't move. All he could think about was seeing Grantaire again at the cafe, hearing his laugh again... It had been so long since he had last heard the other boy laugh. It hadn't been until the summer leading up to his senior year. It had been a perfect summer, until he had ruined everything right before school started.

 

-

 

Enjolras approached Grantaire with a frown on his face. “Your mother said you visited an art school in New York City.”

 

Grantaire shrugged. “Yeah. But I don't think I'm going to apply.”

 

The frown lines deepened. “Why ever the hell not?”

 

“New York is so far away from DC,” Grantaire was of course referring to Enjolras' intentions of applying to several law schools in DC. “I'm sure I can find a decent art school that is closer.”

 

“Your mother said they were interested in seeing your work,” protested Enjolras.

 

Grantaire rolled his eyes. “Now why the hell would they be interested in my art?”

 

Enjolras shook his head. It was a conversation they had had many times, and even though he knew that Grantaire was only sort of joking, he still answered with full conviction. “Because you're good.”

 

That was the end of the conversation about colleges, because when Grantaire laughed and kissed the blond the subject was clearly forgotten. He let the matter drop, as Grantaire seemed to show no more interest in it. However once he was home he looked up the school in New York. They had one of the best art programs in the country, and if Grantaire could get in, it would open up so many possibilities for him. The more Enjolras read, the more he knew that Grantaire had to go to New York.

 

A couple weeks later, he attempted to bring up the matter again. They were curled up on the couch together in Grantaire's basement, attempting to watch a documentary on Roman emperors.

 

“Have any clues what colleges you want to apply to?” Enjolras asked.

 

Grantaire shrugged. “I've been looking at some community colleges in the DC area. I don't think I could get into any of the great schools down there. Plus most of them don't have that great an art program.”

 

Enjolras cocked his head. “What do you think you're going to do then?”

 

Grantaire looked away from the screen to look at his boyfriend. “I guess I'll study something like English or History. I can do art in my free time. And besides, I'll be closer to you so-”

 

“Is that what you truly want, Grantaire?”

 

Grantaire seemed taken aback by Enjolras' tone. “Wh-what do you mean? Of course it's what I want.”

 

“But what about that school in New York. Your mother said-”

 

“Damn that school, Enjolras. I don't want to go there. I don't want to be so far away from you,” Grantaire exclaimed.

 

“Think about your future, Grantaire! Don't be a fool,” Enjolras replied, raising his voice.

 

“I have. I know what I want! Don't disregard my feelings towards this! I've thought about it, and I just don't want to go there,” Grantaire yelled. “Now can we just drop it?!”

 

Enjolras nodded.

 

An uneasy silence fell over them as they returned to watching the movie. But Enjolras couldn't focus, all he knew was that he had to break up with Grantaire. He loved him too much to let him sacrifice his career for them. 

 

They didn't last another week.

 

-

 

“Enjolras?!” A voice in the darkness startled him from his self pity. “What are you doing out here? Courfeyrac says you haven't been home yet. He's pretty worried, got all of us out looking.”

 

“Hello, Jehan,” Enjolras said tiredly.

 

“Is everything alright?” Jehan asked, sitting down on the bench beside him.

 

“No. I don't think it is,” Enjolras choked out the words.

 

Instantly Jehan wrapped his arms around Enjolras. “Do you want to talk about it?”

 

Enjolras shook his head, although he knew that wouldn't be enough for Jehan.

 

“I'm going to call Courf, and tell him I found you. Then how about I drive you back home?” offered Jehan.

 

“My bike's over there,” Enjolras nodded toward the darkness.

 

Jehan smiled. “Don't worry, we can put it in the trunk.”

 

He got up to make the phone call, which didn't take long. When he returned he helped Enjolras up, and walked with him to get his bike. The ride to Courfeyrac and Enjolras' apartment was mostly in silence, although Jehan hummed a bit towards the end.

 

Back at the apartment Courfeyrac was waiting with a mug of tea in his hands, with him was Combeferre. They appeared to be chatting in low voices when the two men entered, and stopped immediately upon seeing Enjolras.

 

“Hey, we were worried,” Courfeyrac said quietly. “Where have you been all day?”

 

“Thinking,” confessed Enjolras.

 

“Yeah? About what?” Courfeyrac asked.

 

Enjolras looked at Combeferre, who gave a small nod, before he spoke again. “I saw Grantaire.”

 

“What?” Courfeyrac's jaw dropped.

 

At the same time Jehan exclaimed, “Grantaire's back in town?!” But upon seeing Enjolras' stricken expression he immediately schooled his features.

 

“He was at the Musain, with his fiancee,” Enjolras repeated miserably.

 

“I can't believe it.” stated Courfeyrac. “He hasn't been in town since-”

 

“Forever,” Jehan murmured in awe.

 

Combeferre studied Enjolras. “Have you gotten a chance to talk to him yet?”

 

Enjolras shook his head. “No.”

 

“Oh I thought because you were gone all day...” Combeferre sighed.

 

Courfeyrac was studying his two best friends curiously. “Enjolras? Are you still in love with him?”

 

Enjolras cringed. “I don't know. Just seeing him with that girl...it hurt more than expected.”

 

“Well he must have been surprised to see you!” Jehan said trying to remain cheerful.

 

Enjolras shrugged apathetically.

 

“Did he even know you had gotten a job at the Musain?” Jehan asked, not considering what he was implying.

 

Enjolras ducked his head. “He never found out that I came home... I mean there was no reason for me to tell him that I dropped out so I could come back to get a job and look after my mother.”

 

The three other men dropped their heads. Enjolras' mother had become very sick and had lost her job, forcing her only son to get a job to help pay the medical bills. Dutifully, Enjolras had returned home and taken up a job at the Musain, and another one at the Corinth on top of a job at their friend's bicycle shop. He was happy enough to do so, believing that it was only going to put his dream on hold...but she had gotten worse, and Enjolras had decided to take some online courses instead. It had all been quite disheartening for him. His mother had been his biggest supporter in becoming a lawyer, and he felt that he ought to do what he could for her now. But in the past year he had seemed to change. His friends noticed that he was no longer quite so passionate to change the world. He had lost his drive and motivation as he worked so hard to keep on top of all the medical bills. He had to sell his childhood home as his mother was in full hospital care, and so he moved in with Courfeyrac. He always seemed to be tired, and never had a free moment. His friends were concerned, to say the least, but up until this moment hadn't acted on it.

 

“Have you visited her recently?” Jehan asked quietly.

 

Enjolras nodded. He visited his mother weekly. “She's alright. I mean as alright as one can be when they're dying. She said the pain is a bit less this week.”

 

Combeferre gave a small smile. “That's a relief.”

 

Enjolras gave a small sound of agreement. “I think I'm going to go to bed now...”

 

His friends watched the retreating form of their friend. Once he was gone they all exchanged a look.

 

“What are we going to do?” Combeferre asked.

 

Courfeyrac sighed. “The only thing we can do. We be there for him.”

 

Jehan gave a small smile. “Like always, then. I just wish there was more we could do.”

 

“We can't force it...Enjolras will have to decide if he wants to talk with Grantaire or not,” Courfeyrac muttered.

 

In his room, Enjolras heard every word his friends said, and couldn't help as the tears pooled in his eyes. Since when had this become his life?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the support! Let me know if you have any questions/ did it make sense when they were back in time? Please leave a review! ~T.W.o.W.


	3. Chapter 3

As Enjolras left for his shift at Cafe Musain the next morning, he couldn't help but see the town the way Grantaire must after all these years. The main road was bustling as always, although some of the shops had turned over multiple times since Grantaire was last here. Up the road, and to the left was Thenardier's B&B, which offered a lovely view of the mountains. How it was still running would be a question for the ages. Perhaps it was the town's local charm that drew tourists in and gave them the patience needed to deal with the skeevy couple who ran the place. No one would ever know. 

 

And although tourists were common enough, as well as the college students who attended Montfermeil College, the town was mostly made up of locals. People who Enjolras had known growing up his entire life. That isn't to say the small town didn't have a night life, if people knew where to look. A few miles away there were some local bars and clubs, one of which was the Corinth, where Enjolras worked most evenings. Finally, just down the rise there was the county hospital. All too easily Enjolras could picture it, the tall brick building with its well kept gardens and yards. He knew that right now his mother was probably going through chemo or some treatment, or perhaps she was reading. As Enjolras thought of his mother, a smile grew on his face. It was for her that he willingly did all this.

 

His smile dropped as soon as he entered the cafe. Already seated at the breakfast bar was Grantaire. Enjolras could recognize those dark curls anywhere.

 

“Morning Enjolras,” Cosette said. “Here let me take your things. You have a visitor.”

 

“Yes. I see that,” Enjolras said stiffly.

 

“Well? Aren't you going to go over there,” she nudged at him.

 

Enjolras blushed, and then shook his head. “I've got work.”

 

“Don't be silly. I already told our boss that I would cover for you. So go talk, you've got half an hour,” Cosette said cheerily.

 

Enjolras took a steadying breath and walked over to where Grantaire was slumped over a coffee.

 

“Good morning,” Enjolras said sitting beside him.

 

Grantaire smiled. “It has been awhile, hasn't it.”

 

Enjolras ducked his head, “yeah.”

 

“So, tell me, why are you here? I thought that once you left for DC you never wanted to come back to Montfermeil unless your life depended on it,” Grantaire said easily.

 

Enjolras' shoulders dropped. He gave an uncomfortable laugh. “It's not so much my life, as my mother's.'

 

Grantaire's easy nature was gone, and he just stared at Enjolras waiting for him to continue.

 

“She has cancer, Grantaire. Chronic Leukemia. I left school so that I could get a job to help pay the medical bills,” Enjolras explained.

 

Grantaire let go of his breath. “I'm sorry, Enjolras. I didn't know...”

 

Enjolras gave him a grim smile, “well we weren't exactly on speaking terms the last time I saw you.”

 

Grantaire's face darkened. “No, I guess we weren't.”

 

There was a beat of silence as both men sat and thought. “And what about New York?”

 

Grantaire beamed, and Enjolras felt as if he were in familiar territories again. “It was life changing. I didn't know who I was or what I could be until I found that city. Everyone in my classes were so supportive of each other. I never knew what that was like. I also was able to intern at some really great galleries, and I've got my first big show in December.”

 

Enjolras nodded. His sacrifice had been worth it, all his heartbreak and regret had gotten Grantaire to New York. Gotten him to live his dream. “That's wonderful. And Charla?”

 

Grantaire smiled cheekily. “Ah yes. We met at one of my first showcases. She absolutely detested my work, but she saw potential. She was the one who got me in contact with a bunch of galleries. Took me awhile, but I finally got the balls to ask her out.”

 

“You're marrying someone who detests your work?” Enjolras asked, mildly confused.

 

Grantaire laughed easily. “She didn't really get it. She thought I could do much better. I guess one of the reasons I brought her to Montfermeil was to show her what inspired those pieces.”

 

“And so that she could meet your parents,” Enjolras tacked on.

 

Grantaire's smile widened. “That too. Course knowing my maman, she'll try to convince Charla to have a wedding here.”

 

“But you don't want that?”

 

Grantaire shrugged. “I honestly don't care, but I know Charla would prefer a big wedding in the city. Something sophisticated, you know?”

 

“There are a lot of things you could say about Montfermeil, but sophisticated isn't exactly one of them,” agreed Enjolras.

 

Grantaire scratched at his scruff. “Not so much has changed really. I see that the Thenardier's are still running their B&B...somehow. Are the kids still living at home?”

 

“Not quite. Eponine moved out to the old mill house a year or so ago. Took Gavroche along with her, but Azelma insisted on staying and working at the B&B,” Enjolras explained.

 

“Well that's Zelma for you. I'm glad Eponine was able to move out though. What's she doing these days?”

 

“She was your best friend,” Enjolras laughed. “Shouldn't you know?”

 

“Haven't really been in contact with anyone here since freshman year. Guess that explains why I never knew that you were back,” Grantaire said thoughtfully.

 

“It wasn't exactly something I was proud of,” Enjolras said under his breath, but Grantaire heard him.

 

“Yo Goldilocks! Bossman says you're break's up, and that Cosette isn't gonna cover for you anymore,” Charlie said nodding at Enjolras.

 

“Excuse me, but I have to go back to work,” Enjolras said gritting his teeth at the nickname.

 

Grantaire just laughed. “Whatever Goldilocks. I hope to see more of you around.”

 

Enjolras just nodded, unsure how to respond, and returned to work.

 

-

 

After a hurried lunch, Enjolras rode his bike down the main road towards his second job. Feuilly's bike shop was a major attraction to tourists as it contained a bit of everything. There were vintage bikes that Feuilly had fixed up and repainted, that could be rented out to tour the town. Then there were the garden pieces and modern art sculptures created from bikes too rusted to fix. And from all those spare parts he was able to create clocks and boxes and jewelry. There was a little bit of everything in that store.

 

The shop's big glass window let in plenty of natural light, which was perfect for the tiny succulents growing in some baskets attached to pastel bikes. Enjolras adored looking after the plants, whether it was the succulents sitting contentedly in their pots or the vines that managed to grow and curl up along the repurposed metal, Enjolras found it calming. And although the hand painted sign simply read Bicycles in a swirling font, there were so many plants that it was considered by most a garden store. Either way the shop was already bustling with activity, and when he entered Feuilly gave him a big wave.

 

“Thank god you're here! Can you finish ringing up Mrs. Aldrich here, I've got loads of work to do in the back to finish this custom order by tomorrow,” Feuilly said apologetically.

 

Enjolras nodded, and easily took on the role of cashier. He managed to help four customers before Grantaire entered his mind again, and this time it was in the form of his mother.

 

“Oh, hello dear,” Helene said stepping up to the register. “I didn't know you worked here too.”

 

Enjolras shrugged. He found it so odd looking at Helene as she shared so many traits with her only son. “I hope Charla and Grantaire are enjoying their stay.”

 

Helene shook her head ruefully. “Charla doesn't seem fond of the suburbs, but Augustin and I are determined to change her mind. We are thinking of taking her to the church this afternoon to see what she thinks of it. Think how lovely a summer wedding would be. And in the same church he was baptized in...”

 

“Will this be all?” Enjolras asked gesturing at the potted ferns and geraniums.

 

“I suppose so. Tell me, you and R were close once, what do you think of his fiancee?”

 

Enjolras' jaw dropped. “It's really not my place to say.”

 

“But?” pressed Helene.

 

“Well,” swallowed Enjolras, “if she makes him happy, and really cares about him then who am I to judge?”

 

Helene's expression softened. “Jeanne raised you well. You have grown up to be such a charming and respectful young man, Enjolras. I'm sure one day you'll meet the man of your dreams.”

 

Enjolras merely nodded, returning her change. He didn't bother to tell her that the already had.

 

-

 

It was late when Enjolras had finished his shift. He had helped Feuilly close up the shop, and the conversation had been easy between the two friends. Mostly they chatted about books they had been reading, and what they thought the other might like. It was a nice change from the concerned looks that Courfeyrac had been giving him at home or the bright twinkling eyes of Cosette at work. Feuilly wasn't concerned by the fact that Grantaire was back, he was merely glad for the good company at work.

 

After Enjolras had left he got on his bicycle, a present from Feuilly that had been painted red, and rode down the hill to where the hospital was located. Visiting hours were almost over, but the staff knew the blond well and were willing to allow him extra time with his mother.

 

Just as he suspected, Enjolras found his mother reading a book when he entered her hospital room. Her eyes widened in surprise as a smile grew on her thin face.

 

“I thought you couldn't come tonight,” Jeanne said embracing her son.

 

“I can always make time to come visit you, maman,” Enjolras said kissing her forehead. Once upon a time her head had been covered in the same golden curls as her son, but now those were gone. Gone too was her round face, these days it was nearly as slim and angular as his own. There were dark circles under her eyes, but even those could not dim how brightly they shone in the presence of her son.

 

“And what about that paper for your online course?” Jeanne tried to frown, but the smile that was tugging at her lips made it impossible.

 

“It can wait,” he assured her.

 

Jeanne snorted. “I'm sure.”

 

“How have the drugs been?”

 

Jeanne looked away. “You know I don't like them.”

 

“I know, but has the nausea gone down at least?”

 

She looked so frail as she looked up at him, “yes. Although I am feeling more and more tired. I wish...”

 

“I know. There are a lot of things to wish for,” Enjolras said sitting on the bed beside her.

 

Jeanne cocked her head, squinting at him. “And what has you so down?”

 

Enjolras shook his head, “it isn't important.”

 

“Ange, if it's bothering you then it is important,” Jeanne said running her bird like hands through her son's hair. She forced him to look her in the eye, “if it's money-”

 

His eyes widened. “No. It has nothing to do with paying for your medicine. It's-”

 

“Grantaire?!”

 

Enjolras' brows furrowed, but then he turned to look behind him and standing in the doorway was none other than Grantaire. In his hands were a bouquet of wildflowers.

 

“Hello Jeanne,” he said entering the room. “Am I interrupting?”

 

“What are you doing here?” Enjolras tried his best to keep from sounding accusatory, but he failed.

 

“You will find that I can be quite charming if I want,” Grantaire smiled.

 

Jeanne shook her head merrily. “I didn't expect to see you by my sick bed.”

 

Grantaire set the flowers down before going to lean on the windowsill. “I only just found out you were sick today. I ran into Enjolras at the Musain.”

 

Jeanne nodded. “You didn't need to bring flowers. What use does a dead woman have for flowers?”

 

“Maman! Don't speak that way,” begged Enjolras.

 

Jeanne shook her head, “I know you wish I had your fighting spirit. And yet sometimes I think it would be easier to just stop fighting. Then you could leave and go back to law school and you wouldn't have to work so many jobs...”

 

Grantaire noted how Enjolras' grip on his mother's hand tightened and there was a new tension in his jaw.

 

“Perhaps I ought to go,” Grantaire offered.

 

“Nonsense. Are you still drawing, R?”

 

“Yes ma'am,” Grantaire answered.

 

“I should like to see your drawings someday,” Jeanne said wistfully. “Tell me you'll visit again. And with your sketch book?”

 

“Maman, Grantaire is here with his fiancee I'm sure-”

 

“I'd love to,” R replied.

 

And at the same time Jeanne exclaimed, “Fiancee!?”

 

Grantaire blushed. “Yes. I've finally found someone to settle for me.”

 

“Oh hush. Do you let your mother here you talk in such self deprecating ways? I'm sure they're absolutely lovely,” Jeanne sighed. “I just wish Enjolras would find someone before I'm gone.”

 

“So you're not dating anyone?” Grantaire asked directing his attention to Enjolras.

 

“No...” he couldn't bring himself to say that when he was in DC he had tried to. He had tried to forget about Grantaire by dating someone else, but it just hadn't felt right. None of it did, and now it was too late.

 

Grantaire smiled down at Jeanne. “I'm sure Enjolras will manage to find someone. After all, he inherited your good looks~”

 

Weakly Jeanne swatted at Grantaire's arm. “Don't be mad. I look like a ghost.”

 

“Maybe, but a very beautiful and ethereal ghost,” Grantaire teased.

 

“I should go,” Enjolras said a bit reluctantly.

 

The light in Jeanne's eyes faded. “I'll see you tomorrow?” She sounded so small.

 

Enjolras bent down to kiss her forehead again. “Of course.”

 

As he left he heard his mother say, “now this fiancee of yours, what are they like?”

 

He turned and saw that Grantaire was sitting by his mother, phone out and was seemingly showing her some photos of them together. It was a touching scene, one that Enjolras was reluctant to leave. But then again, he did have a paper to get done. He turned his back on their laughter and strode away through the ill lit hallways of the hospital.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Thanks for the support. I changed a few sentences in the last chapter mostly to make it less awkward, but the main idea didn't really change. Please, please, please let me know what you think. Even though this au is set in America I still like to keep the French ties to the book, such as giving my ocs french names and using the french word for mother. Also funny note Charla means 'free man' which I think is a very appropriate name for the woman who managed to steal R's heart from Enjolras. Anyway any comments or constructive criticism is welcome. Thanks for reading and I'll see you next time! ~T.W.o.W.


	4. Chapter 4

The next night Enjolras returned home from a shift at the Corinth feeling all keyed up. He had only been working at the bar, but several men had still managed to hit on him. It was common enough, he knew that most people found him conventionally attractive, but this was the first time he had actually considered bringing one of them home with him. It had been such a long few days, full of thoughts of Grantaire, and nothing he could do could distract himself from him. But in the end, Enjolras just couldn't bring himself to invite a stranger into the home he shared with Courfeyrac.

 

Thinking about his roommate made the blond realize that the house was oddly empty feeling. After a short examination of all the rooms, Enjolras came to the conclusion that Courfeyrac was out, and probably wouldn't be back til morning. It wasn't unusual, or even that much of a surprise. Courf was often out partying with friends, and truth be told Enjolras was glad for the privacy.

 

Enjolras went to his room and began to undress. He pulled off the tight black V-neck that was standard dress code at the Corinth, before tugging at his skinny jeans. His hand brushed against his semi-hard cock, causing Enjolras to let out a filthy moan. It seemed to fill the empty air, a promise for what would follow.

 

Enjolras stripped down, before moving to the bed. He knelt on top of the covers and began to pull at his dick. It wasn't too long until he was completely hard, drips of precum leaking from his abused member. He closed his eyes and began to imagine paint covered hands running up and down his flushed body, prodding at his hole before teasing the head and slit of his cock. Another moan accompanied the wet noises filling the room as Enjolras' arched his back, thrusting in hopes of getting more friction. His breath became ragged as he pictured those hands scissoring him open in preparation for something much larger and heavier. His legs began to buckle as his fingers worked at himself from both ends. With a chocked out moan, the blond spilled over into his hand.

 

“Fuck.”

 

He quickly cleaned up, hating himself for who he had been picturing the whole time.

 

-

 

Grantaire woke up early to find the spot next to him empty. Charla had suggested they stay at the B&B, but when Helene had heard that she said that it would be better for them to stay with family. He sighed leaning back against his pillows. He always had enjoyed watching his lovers wake up beside them. To see them blink blearily into the morning, before smiling at him and curling closer...God, he loved that. But Charla was never one for cuddling, or sleeping in for that matter. And Grantaire supposed that that was one of the things he loved about her.

 

Lazily he got dressed before going down into the kitchen to find his parents cooking breakfast. Well to be more precise his mother was reading the newspaper and chatting with his father as he made crepes.

 

“Have you seen Charla?” Grantaire asked sitting down beside his mother.

 

“She went out for a jog, dear. Said she needed some time to herself,” Helene explained.

 

Grantaire glared at his mother, “have you been pressuring her into having the wedding here?”

 

“Us? Pressuring? Not at all,” Helene denied.

 

Augustin laughed, “well perhaps a bit. C'mon R, so many family friends live here-”

 

“We have friends in New York, papa,” Grantaire said dryly.

 

“Really? Like who?” Helene interrupted.

 

“Like Joly or Musichetta and-”

 

“Well if you ever bothered to call we might know these things. I've never heard about these people before today, Grantaire!” his mother complained.

 

“Besides,” Grantaire frowned, “Charla has plenty of friends and contacts in New York as well-”

 

“What's going on?” Charla asked, entering through the garden door. She was dressed in jogging clothes, a bluetooth still in her ear.

 

“We're discussing where we are having the wedding,” Grantaire said exasperatedly.

 

“We should have it here,” Charla said, like it was the obvious answer.

 

“What?” Grantaire's jaw dropped.

 

Helene clapped her hands together, sharing a grin with her husband.

 

“I mean,” Charla continued, “it seems to mean a lot to your parents. Besides I'm sure our friends would love to see your hometown. It really isn't that much of a big deal.”

 

Grantaire just stared at his fiancee like she had grown another head while she was out on her run. “But I thought you wanted a big city wedding.”

 

Charla shrugged. “I talked it over with some of my friends this morning. They think a country wedding will be charming. Besides everyone gets married in the city these days.”

 

Grantaire nodded dumbly.

 

“But what about your parents?” asked Helene. “Will they be alright with this?”

 

“They're dead.”

 

“Oh, I'm sorry, I-”

 

“Really it's ok,” Charla said. She shook her head as if to forget about the unpleasantness of the matter before continuing, “I'm just glad to have found a venue for the wedding.”

 

“Oh darling, that's wonderful!” Helene said grabbing hold of her daughter-in-law to be's shoulders. Charla didn't like to be hugged.

 

Charla nodded like the decision had been made, and they were done. She sat down at the table with Helene and Grantaire before beginning to page through some magazines she had brought.

 

“So, any plans today?” asked Augustin.

 

Grantaire looked at his fiancee, “yeah. I was actually thinking of introducing you to my best friend today.”

 

Charla looked up from her magazine, a smile on her face. “I would love to meet him.”

 

Grantaire blushed as his mother and father laughed in the background, “my best friend in high school was actually a girl.”

 

Charla's expression shifted so quickly that no one could quite read it. “Silly of me to presume. It would be an honor to meet her.” Her smile was chilly.

 

Grantaire nodded. Later that morning he texted Eponine to see if she was free. They ended up making plans for that afternoon. Grantaire spent the rest of the morning curled up with a sketchbook, listening to his mother and fiancee call up the church to book it. This whole engagement felt surreal. It didn't feel that long ago that he had asked her to marry him.

 

-

 

Grantaire had been in his studio, working on his latest piece, when Charla had come running in.

 

“Yes, yes, yes, a thousand times yes!” she had cried pulling him into a hug.

 

“Er, yes to what exactly?” he asked still disoriented that she had initiated the hug.

 

“Yes I'll marry you,” she held up her left hand to show a ring on her fourth finger. His ring. He had bought it a few weeks ago at Tiffany's and had been waiting for the right time to ask.

 

“Where did you get that?”

 

Charla snorted. “Your underwear drawer? Really? For an artist you're pretty cliché, babe.”

 

“And what were you doing snooping through my underwear drawer?” He asked.

 

“I was putting away your laundry and I just found it,” Charla said. “I'm sorry. I just couldn't wait....”

 

Grantaire frowned. He wasn't used to Charla being all cutesy and shy, but he supposed that's what weddings did to a girl. “I mean I didn't have a plan yet-”

 

Charla rolled her eyes. “I know I can sometimes be intimidating, but you had to know I would say yes.”

 

And there was the Charla he was familiar with. Grantaire let out a sigh, trying not to appear too disappointed. “Do you like it?” he managed to ask.

 

The ring was quite large and flashy, it had cost the artist a small fortune.

 

“Love it,” Charla said carefully placing a kiss on the corner of his mouth.

 

And that's how they got engaged, although when Charla told the story she liked to tell people that they were at a five star restaurant. And there had been candles and roses and music....that it had been expensive and tasteful...She said anything to make her friends jealous...

 

-

 

In the afternoon, the two of them drove over to the old mill house where Eponine was living. After knocking on the door, it was opened by a beautiful brunette.

 

“'Ponine? My god, I barely recognize you!” R exclaimed pulling the woman into a hug.

 

Eponine had a large smile on her lips. “Fuck, it's been too long. And this must be your fiancee. Hi, sorry about the language. My name's Eponine Thenardier.”

 

“Charla de la Roche,” Charla said shaking the girl's hand.

 

“Come on in,” Eponine invited them. “Sorry if it's a mess. I live with my younger brother.”

 

“And what about your parents?” Charla asked politely.

 

“They live on the other side of town, run the B&B,” Eponine explained.

 

“I thought your name sounded familiar,” Charla said.

 

They made their way into a large open room that was the living room. Grantaire and Charla sat on the couch while Eponine took the wingback. “Can I get any of you anything to drink?”

 

“Nothing for me,” Charla said, eyeing the pile of textbooks and papers on the floor.

 

“I'm fine as well,” Grantaire said graciously.

 

“So, you must tell me where you two met,” Eponine began.

 

“One of his showcases,” Charla answered coolly. “I was criticizing one of his pieces to the man next to me, who turned out to be the artist himself.”

 

Eponine frowned slightly. “Ah, I see.”

 

“I recommended that he take some more advanced art classes, and meet with some of my contacts and get an internship. He followed my advice and look how successful he is now. He's got a show coming up this winter,” bragged Charla.

 

Eponine smiled, “That's great R!”

 

Grantaire blushed.

 

“And what about you two?” Charla asked.

 

“Huh?”

 

“I mean when did you meet? How did you become best friends?” Charla asked raising an immaculately sculpted brow.

 

Eponine smiled warmly. “We actually met because my parents told me to pick some flowers from his mother's garden for the room arrangements for some rich guests and he caught me.”

 

Charla brow rose even higher. “Your parents encouraged you to steal?”

 

Eponine laughed. “Yeah, they aren't really the best role models. So as soon as I could I took my younger brother and moved here. Anyway R, caught me and made me apologize to his mother who instantly saw I was near tears and invited me in for some lemonade. We've been friends ever since.”

 

“And in high school? What was he like then?” Charla asked.

 

“He was a sap,” Eponine smirked, “head over heels in love with another boy in our class.”

 

“A boy?”

 

“R?” Eponine looked over at her friend uncertainly.

 

Grantaire coughed. “Guess this never really came up. But I'm bisexual.”

 

Charla nodded. “I suppose it makes sense with the people you hang out with...”

 

“Huh?” Eponine asked.

 

“She's talking about this poly couple that I know in New York. I roomed with one of the guys through college. His name's Bossuet, he's got the worst luck for a guy I've ever met. Except when it comes to his two partners,” Grantaire explained. “He got pretty lucky there.”

 

Eponine smiled. “That's so sweet.”

 

“So this guy that Grantaire was in love with? What was he like?” Charla asked.

 

Eponine looked uncomfortably at R as if to ask should I tell her or should you?

 

“You've actually met him,” Grantaire said slowly.

 

“Really?!”

 

“He served us brunch at the Musain,” Grantaire explained.

 

“The waiter?!”

 

“Yeah, him.”

 

Charla nodded. “Was it weird seeing him again after all this time?”

 

“What?”

 

“Was it weird? I mean you were 'head over heels' in love right? So was it weird?” Charla pressed.

 

Grantaire frowned, “what's gotten into you?”

 

Charla shook her head. “We'll discuss this later. Anyway Eponine, it was lovely to meet you. I think it would be best for us to go now. We have a lot of planning to do. Grantaire, babe, how about you go get the car. I want to have a word with Eponine, girl to girl.”

 

Grantaire nodded, like he wanted to stay. He had just introduced the two strongest women he knew and it was like watching two nuclear warheads being primed and aimed. Uneasily he left the room, hoping that if there were casualties it would be something he could handle.

 

“Now that he's gone,” Charla said stepping into Eponine's space, “I wanted to ask you, would you be my maid of honor?”

 

“What?” Eponine asked dumbly.

 

“My maid of honor? I know it would mean so much to R,” she said his nickname like it was something that a child said and she was mimicking it carefully so as not to offend.

 

“What about your friends in New York?” Eponine asked.

 

Charla rolled her eyes. “They'll be bridesmaids, of course, but I don't see them being my maid of honor. Truth is, most of the women I know are sharks. And to be honest I don't trust them. But I think you will take the position seriously. After all, Grantaire is a close friend.”

 

Eponine nodded. “Yeah, alright. It'll be my pleasure.”

 

Charla nodded. “Great. I'll be in contact with you shortly.”

 

The blonde strode out of the house and straight into the idling car.

 

“What was that about?”

 

“I asked her to be my maid of honor,” Charla said.

 

“Really!? What about all your friends back home?” Grantaire asked pulling out of the driveway.

 

“Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer, babe,” Charla said putting on her sunglasses.

 

“Eponine's your enemy?” Grantaire asked.

 

“Sure she is. After all, she knows so much more about you then I do,” Charla said. “For Christ's sake you never told me you were a bisexual.”

 

“I guess it never came up,” Grantaire said.

 

“Well after the wedding that will have to stop.”

 

“Huh?”

 

“I mean I can't be worried that my man will cheat on me with another guy.” Charla shivered delicately. “I know how greedy bisexuals can be. Take a look at your poly friends.”

 

“What about them?” Grantaire said springing to their defense.

 

“Well I don't want them to give you any ideas,” she said delicately. “I am not okay with sharing you with another woman. Or man. Are we clear.”

 

“Charla-”

 

“Let's not talk about this heavy matter anymore. It's settled,” Charla said. “Besides I feel a headache coming on.”

 

Grantaire frowned. He had never seen Charla behave this way. He made a mental note to get in contact with Eponine later, to see what had happened while he was gone since it appeared for the time that his fiancee was unwilling to talk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys, so yeah I've added some smut. There's a reason for it, I promise. Think of it as foreshadowing. I also decided that I can't tell this entire story from Enjolras' point of view as I had initially envisioned so here's R's story as well. Let me know what you think. Love the support, keep it up. ~T.W.o.W.


	5. Chapter 5

Enjolras was miserable. Every time he saw a dark head of curls he felt his pulse jump, and an uneasy feeling settle into his gut. Part of him desperately wanted to see Grantaire again, it was needy and whiny and he wished that he could dampen the excitement he felt whenever he saw someone who looked even slightly like R. The other side of him was eager to avoid the artist. It was just too painful a thought to contemplate. No way did he want to talk to the artist, he didn't even think he could manage to look Grantaire in the eye. Recently, most nights he came home from the Corinth he had to jerk off in the shower just to be able to go to bed. There was something about the music and atmosphere of the place that was hypnotic, and always made him think of what it would be like to be one of the many couples grinding on the dance floor. No, to be grinding with R. Enjolras would have quit, except for that it was his best paying job and he really did need the money. He would just do his best to avoid the artist, so that's why he was less than thrilled to see Grantaire sitting at a table in his section at the Musain.

 

“Hi Grantaire,” Enjolras said slowly.

 

Grantaire smiled brightly when he saw his waiter. “I'm glad you're here today. The blonde hostess assured me you would be in today.”

 

“Cosette,” Enjolras sighed. She was too sweet and kind that he would feel bad for holding a grudge against her for this. “Wait a minute, how did you know I would be here?”

 

Grantaire blushed. “I've been coming everyday this week, but you never seemed to be here. Finally Cosette? She seemed to pity me, and yesterday she gave me your schedule.”

 

Forget all those kind thoughts he had had towards his coworker, she was dead. “What can I get you?”

 

“Mm, strawberry crepes and a black coffee,” Grantaire said not even looking at the menu.

 

Enjolras nodded, scribbling the order down, being careful not to look Grantaire in the eye. They managed to get through the rest of the interaction easily, as Enjolras made sure to stay professional and not hover near Grantaire's table any longer than necessary. Within the hour Grantaire left, and Enjolras felt a mix of relief and disappointment. On his earliest break he went to track down Cosette, who was chatting to one of the cooks in the kitchen.

 

“Can I have a word?” he asked through gritted teeth.

 

“Sure thing! I'll talk with you later Marius,” Cosette said, laying a hand on the other man's forearm. She followed Enjolras into the alley before asking, “what's up?”

 

“Why did you give Grantaire my schedule?” Enjolras asked pinching the bridge of his nose.

 

Cosette smiled. “He had been coming in all week asking if you were around. He looked like such a dejected puppy every time he left, so I took pity on him. He seemed pretty anxious to see you again. Did he tell you why?”

 

“Cosette, you can't just give my schedule away to anyone who asks,” Enjolras said losing his patience.

 

Cosette frowned. “He's not just 'anyone', Enjolras! He was an ex, who seemed like he wanted to catch up-”

 

“He's got a fiancee!” protested Enjolras.

 

“I didn't say you had to snog him!” When Cosette got emotional she tended to revert to her English vocabulary where she had lived with her father for a few years when she was younger.

 

“I wasn't suggesting-” Enjolras said panic rising in his voice.

 

Cosette's eyes widened. “You like him still.”

 

“What?”

 

Cosette smiled. “You're still in love! I knew there was something that Jehan wasn't telling me.”

 

Enjolras rolled his eyes. “You're imagining things.”

 

“And if you think you don't have feelings for this man, then you're imagining things.” Cosette said crossly. “I have to get back to work.”

 

“Wait,” Enjolras' voice cracked.

 

“Hm?” She turned to look at him.

 

“I'm sorry. You're right.” Enjolras licked his lips. “I still have feelings for him. I don't think I ever stopped having feelings for him.”

 

Concern flooded Cosette's blue eyes. “Oh lovey.”

 

She pulled him into a tight embrace, although he remained rigid and awkward throughout the encounter. As she pulled away a wry smile was on her lips. “I never imagined the day would come that I would hear the great Enjolras apologize to me.”

 

“Oh shut up,” Enjolras teased, glad that he no longer felt like he was going to cry.

 

Cosette giggled. “Glad to have you back. Now let's get back to work.”

 

With some relief Enjolras was able to return to his job. 

 

-

 

Enjolras' life was a routine.

 

He got up early, went to his first job either at Feuilly's or the Musain before leaving for the other. After that he usually had some down time in the evenings when he would go visit his mother or do work for college before leaving for a shift at the Corinth. Some days he only worked two jobs instead of three, but those were rare. It was a routine that Enjolras' life had settled into when he had returned from DC, and it was one that Grantaire seemed to be appearing in more and more.

 

Once a week, Grantaire would come to the Musain just to hang out. It was always a Wednesday, and it was always during Enjolras' shift. Once he had asked him:

 

“Shouldn't you be spending time with your fiancee?”

 

And Grantaire had answered: “She likes to run to go for a run on Wednesdays.”

 

Enjolras had never had the heart to point out that his Wednesday shift always changed, and it wasn't possible that Charla would pick those oddly specific times to run.

 

At first he was wary of Grantaire's company. He never knew what to say or do with his arms in the presence of the other, but slowly he became more used to it. Most days they barely talked to one another. Grantaire just sat drinking his coffee, perhaps sketching or reading. And every once in a while he may say something to Enjolras, who was often the only one working the shift.

 

Wednesdays were always slow, which gave the two men time to reacquaint each other with their habits and foibles. One can learn a lot from silence. And that's when everything began to change.

 

Enjolras had always been in love with Grantaire, but these quiet Wednesdays allowed him to see a part of R he had never gotten to know in their boyhood. Enjolras found himself falling harder and harder. He began to cherish those hours with R, when they were alone in the Musain. It wasn't quite what they had been before, but it seemed to be on the right path.

 

And then Enjolras would remember that Grantaire was engaged, and he was here to get married, and everything began to spiral down again. Somehow Enjolras' routine had turned into a roller coaster....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the short update. This chapter has taken me so long to write, and I'm still not completely happy with it. Senior year is crazy, I'm busy like all the time. So I hope you enjoy this. Leave a comment please! Thanks for the support. ~T.W.o.W.


	6. Chapter 6

Thursday afternoon, Grantaire dressed to leave the house.

 

“Where do you think you're going?” Charla asked, squinting at him. Currently she was in the midst of a pile of bridal magazines. All around her were pictures of wedding dresses and cakes, layers and layers of taffeta and icings piled upon pages and pages.

 

“Eponine and I were going to catch up,” Grantaire shrugged.

 

Charla's look darkened. “Alright. But remember our conversation last week. I won't have you cheating on me. Especially not with my maid of honor.”

 

“We're just friends, Charla,” sighed Grantaire.

 

Charla nodded. “Just be back before five. Your mother wants to take us around to find a place to hold our reception. Might as well bring Eponine, she might have some good opinions on that matter.”

 

Grantaire nodded.

 

“And don't think I haven't noticed how you're avoiding me,” Charla said.

 

“What?”

 

“Every Wednesday morning? You leave, R.” She pouted.

 

“Oh. Right. I guess this whole wedding planning is a bit stressful to me,” Grantaire confessed.

 

Charla unfurled herself from the bed. “Oh babe, I know. But you were the one who wanted to have a short engagement. Best get it out now, I would hate for you to have cold feet on our wedding day. Understood?”

 

Grantaire nodded. “I got it.”

 

“Good. Now go see your friend, and don't do anything I would disapprove of,” the teasing slant was back in Charla's voice.

 

It was with great relief that Grantaire was able to leave the house. Charla had always been a strong independent woman, but lately she had begun to cling more and more to R. She had started watching his movements like a hawk, always questioning where he was off to, who he would be with, how long he would be gone...it was exhausting. He was sure that it was because she was still uncomfortable being left alone with his parents...they could be a bit much sometimes. But a small part of him worried that this whole thing was a huge mistake.

 

But that was silly. Just the nerves talking, after all getting married is a big commitment. So of course he would be nervous. Right?

 

He pulled into Eponine's driveway, and found her sitting on the porch. She already had to cups of lemonade on the table beside her.

 

“Oh R! It's so lovely to see you again,” the 'alone' was clear from her tone. Eponine gave her best friend a close hug.

 

“Hey I'm sorry for any weirdness last time. Charla isn't usually like that.”

 

A thin smile spread across Eponine's face, it looked almost pained. “I'm just happy if you're happy.”

 

Grantaire nodded. “I guess I should have told her about the whole bi thing earlier...I don't know, it's just so much a part of me that I didn't really think I would have to explain it to my soul mate.”

 

“She's your soul mate?” Grantaire couldn't help but to hear the doubt in Eponine's voice.

 

“Well yeah. She gets my art like no one else. She pushes me in the right direction-”

 

Eponine shook her head. “Enough of this. I've got lots of time ahead of me to get to know her. Let's talk about you! Tell me all about your posh friends in New York.”

 

Grantaire smiled. “Well I told you about Joly, Musichetta and Bossuet. You'd love Chetta. You guys would get along great!”

 

“I can't wait to meet her,” Eponine sounded genuinely happy.

 

“How is Gavroche? Are you in contact with any of our other friends?”

 

“Gavroche is fine. Struggling a bit in school, but you know him. He's a fighter, he'll come out on top,” Eponine was always so proud when she was talking about her younger brother. “And as you know very well, after you and Enjolras broke up I stopped hanging out with his fancy ass friends.”

 

“Ep,” reprimanded R.

 

“Sorry. Nah. I still see Bahorel time and again. He spends a lot of time at the gym. I think he's some sort of trainer these days? Sometimes I run into Jean at the library or the cafe...but not too often,” Eponine explained.

 

Grantaire sighed. “I've been gone for so long, and yet nothing has changed.”

 

Eponine frowned. “That is not true. We may be a sleepy town to you, but a lot has changed. For example the Corinth expanded since you were here. They're open all week now, not just the weekends.”

 

Grantaire laughed, “do you remember that time we snuck in and realized-”

 

“That it was a gay bar? Of course,” Eponine joined in. “Couldn't keep you away from the place.”

 

R shook his head. “I miss it. Not high school itself, that was fucking hell. But the friendships we had, even with the freaking triumvirate...they were good. Eating lunch with Jean and the others, going on day trips in Combeferre's beat up old car. It was all so simple.”

 

Eponine rolled her eyes. “I hate to break it to you, but it wasn't. You and Enjolras broke up. He dumped you through an email. His friends defended him when you asked to speak with him, and they told you to get lost. They suck.”

 

Grantaire frowned. “It was a very nice email.”

 

“It broke your heart!” Eponine shouted. “If you ask me Enjolras got what was coming to him.”

 

“Ep, don't say that,” Grantaire frowned.

 

“His rebellious ideals are what got him kicked out of DC, so yeah. I think he does-”

 

“You don't know? I thought everyone in a small town would know,” Grantaire was aghast, jaw slack.

 

“Know what?” asked Eponine slowly.

 

“His mother is dying in the hospital.”

 

“What?” her voice caught weirdly.

 

“She's got cancer. He came back to pay her medical bills,” Grantaire explained hollowly.

 

“Shit. Why did you let me say such horrible things,” frowned Eponine. “I didn't know.”

 

“I'm starting to think no one does...or at least very few,” Grantaire elaborated.

 

“So he lets all those people believe...” Eponine breathed.

 

“Believe what?”

 

“That he's back because he failed law school, or they kicked him out...Fuck, that makes it harder for me to hate him,” Eponine slumped back in her chair.

 

“You hate him?” R seemed shocked at the notion. How could anyone hate someone so passionate and caring?

 

Eponine snorted. “Me and Bahorel weren't batshit crazy for him, so when he dumped you it was easier for us to hate him. You know my family, R, we hold grudges. I just can't believe I was so wrong.”

 

“Sometimes things aren't always as clear as they seem to be,” R muttered. He checked his watch. “Hey my mom is dragging Charla and me to see some reception halls around five. In the mood to come mediate.”

 

Eponine snorted. Helene could be a handful, and from what she saw Charla wasn't necessarily the easiest woman to get along with from a mother-in-law's point of view. “Sure. Guess I should get started on those maid of honor duties.”

 

R smiled. “Thanks Ep.”

 

The drive back was mostly silent. Eponine could feel a shift in her friend. He had been so calm and at ease in her home, but now he seemed to be tense. Eponine couldn't shake the idea that there was something wrong.

 

When they arrived at his parents' place Charla rushed out in a frenzy. “Where have you been?”

 

“I told you I was at Eponine's,” Grantaire frowned as he got out of the car.

 

Charla tensed, she whispered, “I told you to be back by four.”

 

Grantaire frowned, “I'm pretty sure-”

 

“Babe, your mother had plans for us to go see some reception halls, but they're probably closing up now.”

 

“I think-”

 

“Babe, when I ask you to come back at four I expect you to come back. I've been worried sick for an hour that you had gotten into an accident or were off cheating on me. The least you could do would be to apologize for being so late,” huffed Charla.

 

Grantaire looked down at his scuffed shoes. “I'm sorry, Charla. I must have forgotten.”

 

Charla's mien softened. “Just don't let it happen again, babe. Let me drive back Eponine. It'll give us a chance to bond.”

 

R nodded, before going into the house.

 

“Hey, maman? What time were we supposed to visit the reception halls?” he asked as he passed his mother in the kitchen.

 

Helene looked up from her book. “I told Charla to tell you four o'clock. Didn't she?”

 

Grantaire frowned. He must have made a mistake, “yeah. I guess I forgot.”

 

Helene shrugged. “Not the end of the world, dear. We can just go look tomorrow.”

 

R nodded. He was getting a headache, and all he wanted to do was go lie down.

 

-

 

In the car Charla kept her eyes on the road. “Eponine, are you free this weekend to go back to New York?”

 

“Yeah, I guess. It kind of depends what day, but-”

 

“Great. I've made an appointment with Klienfelds to find a dress on Saturday. You'll get a chance to meet some of the other bridesmaids, and help me chose the right dress for the occasion,” Charla said.

 

“Sounds lovely,” Eponine agreed.

 

“Good. I'll pick you up around six.”

 

Eponine nodded, “I can't wait to hear more about your ideas for the wedding. Helene is really so pleased that you're having it in town.”

 

“Yes, well it's not optimal, but sometimes sacrifices must be made,” Charla sighed.

 

“I don't understand,” frowned Eponine.

 

“A country wedding offers a lot less temptations to the groom, than one in a city,” Charla shrugged.

 

“You don't trust R?” Eponine was guarded.

 

Charla let out a laugh. “A smart woman never trusts a man, and if she's got one she'll keep him on a tight leash. Especially when there are such beautiful girls as you roaming about.”

 

Eponine wasn't quite sure what to say. It seemed to be a compliment...but she also felt like trash when Charla said it. “I don't think that's a good foundation for a marriage.”

 

“Darling, that's feminism,” Charla shrugged, “after all a woman must be modern.”

 

Eponine could only nod. As she was getting out of the car, Charla chose to share one final piece of advice with her. “Men are dogs, Eponine. And what do you do with a dog? You collar it. See you Saturday!”

 

The car sped off into the night, leaving Eponine to stand on her darkening porch. What the hell had just happened?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another short update. But as someone commented a short update is better than none! I hope you're enjoying this story. It's getting darker than I originally planned, but I like it. Please let me know what you think so far! Thanks for the continued support. I hope to have another update soon. ~T.W.o.W.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if this is rough, I was pretty tired as I wrote and edited this. Hope you enjoy it though.  
> Warning: Charla is a manipulative bitch in this chapter. Like I really hate her.

The next day, Grantaire was woken up early by his fiancee.

 

“I am sorry for yesterday,” Charla began watching him like a hawk through the mirror of the vanity. “I don't know has gotten into me. I suppose small towns just aren't my thing.”

 

Grantaire nodded. “You were worried I-”

 

“It's just that everyone knows everyone else's business… There is no privacy here. I can't imagine the gossip.”

 

Grantaire had always thought Montfermeil had been a nice place growing up. Sure, everyone was pretty close knit...but as far as he was concerned there wasn't much gossip to deal with. “I'm not sure I know what you mean.”

 

“Well for instance there's that poor boy who was kicked out of law school because of his Communistic ideals-” Charla started haughtily.

 

“You mean Enjolras.” There were a lot of things to be said about Enjolras' ideals, but R was pretty sure Communistic was not one of them.

 

“Precisely. What a sad, pathetic excuse for a man,” Charla shook her head. “Besides his good looks I don't know what you ever saw in that man. He has no drive, no passion or ambition-”

 

“Enough, Charla.” Grantaire said tiredly. “You don't know him.”

 

“Neither do you.” Charla turned to look at him directly. “You just remember him as your high school boyfriend who dumped you. If a loser like that dumped you what does that say about you, babe?”

 

Grantaire looked at his hands, jaw clenched.

 

“Precisely. Now get up. We have a lot to do today. Your mother is taking us around town to find the perfect reception hall. I texted Eponine and told her we would be there in ten, so hurry up.” Charla hastily stood and made her way out of the room, leaving R alone.

 

Grantaire sighed. He had never thought of Enjolras as a loser. Especially now that he knew why Enjolras had come back...defeated as he was… he wasn't a loser. But that didn't make Charla's words sting any less. R knew that she was probably settling for him, he knew he wasn't that desirable. He had a shit sense of humor. He probably drank too much, was an insomniac who even at his best he still had to battle constantly with depression… He stood resolutely. There were some fates which were inescapable, and looking at old buildings seemed to be today's.

-

They picked up Eponine, R was driving with Charla riding shotgun, meaning that the young woman was forced to sit in the back besides Helene.

 

“Oh Eponine,” the older woman cried. “You look absolutely charming! Did you get a new haircut?”

 

Eponine smiled kindly at the older woman, “yes awhile ago. I guess I haven't seen you recently, Helene. How have you been?”

 

“Wonderful, it's so nice to have R back at home. I only wish his sister could come and be apart of the planning the process.” Helene commented.

 

R rolled his eyes. “You know Bianca is busy in Paris, maman.”

 

“What's she doing there?” asked Charla, looking up from her magazine.

 

“She's studying abroad. I believe she got an internship at one of the major opera houses over there,” Helene said.

 

“Really? Good for her,” Eponine smiled. “I always knew she was talented enough.”

 

Charla coughed slightly. “So where are we headed to first?”

 

“Bienvenu Cottage,” Helene answered.

 

“I know I agreed to a country wedding,” Charla started like she was talking to a child, “but in no means will it be small. Are you sure a cottage can hold 300 plus guests?”

 

Eponine laughed, “Bienvenu Cottage is just what we call it. Believe me, it ain't no cottage.”

 

They rounded the bend to see a striking house before them. It was clearly built in the 19th century, with its long winding driveway under a tunnel of branches. At the end of the crushed shell drive, there stood a compact house made of orange brick so it looked like gold in the spring light. The large windows glinted brightly, and gauzy curtains blew in the wind. There were gas lamps beside the main doors. To the right there was a turret with a red slate roof, and flower boxes at the window.

 

“This house used to belong to the church, home to the minister and his family,” Helene began. “It was passed down until it reached M. Myriel who decided to donate it to the community to be used for school dances, wedding receptions and the like. We decided to name it after him.”

 

“Well his nickname. In Sunday school we all called him M. Bienvenu. He was so kind and welcoming to all,” laughed Eponine.

 

Charla hummed. “Yes it certainly isn't a cottage, but I don't think it's quite right for us.”

 

“Don't you want to see the interior. There are gorgeous old hardwood floors, and the patio in the back-” Helene was taken aback.

 

“No. I don't think it's impressive enough. We have some of my contacts flying in from Milan and Rome, even some curators from Paris. Not to mention all my friends from New York. No if we hold the reception here, I will be the laughing stock of my field.” Charla protested resolutely.

 

“I don't see how our reception affects any of those people,” R said with a frown. He was quite fond of Bienvenu Cottage. It was where he had gotten his first slow dance with Enjolras. He could remember dancing close enough to smell the mint on Enjolras' breath, to feel every breath he took as they swayed together… Perhaps this wasn't the right place to start his new married life with Charla. Too many bad (… good?…) memories

 

“Believe me, babe, it does. Next.”

 

Helene frowned. “Alright dear, let's try The Halls next.”

 

The Halls was located at the opposite end of town and was a large cement building that looked out of place in the sleepy town. However what made it so beautiful was that it was made up of countless windows, with heavy wrought iron bars across them. Whereas the Cottage had seemed ancient, the Halls were modern. Within the windows, the interior was lit softly through futuristic light fixtures that reflected off the marble floors. The Halls were urban and fresh, the antithesis to the Cottage, and precisely what Charla was looking for.

 

“This is it.”

 

“Really?” asked Helene.

 

“Really?” asked Eponine.

 

“Yes. Back me up, babe,” Charla stared hungrily at the building. It was just what she needed to prove to her friends that this hell hole wasn't a complete waste, that this sacrifice would bear fruit. She was to become rich through this marriage, so long as she kept R away from his Impressionistic painting style and continued to breed the abstract. They would make a fortune, and their networking depended on this reception. They would be able to live wherever they chose, New York, Paris, Milan, Florence, who cared...so long as it was far from him meddling mother and best friend, she would have to be wary of them.

 

Meanwhile R was speechless. He had always found The Halls to look like a prison. “Really? Here?”

 

“It's perfect,” Charla said baring her teeth. “Let's go in.”

 

Grantaire bit back a sigh as he parked and got out of the car. Charla led the way in, clutching her wedding binder, passing the magazines into Eponine's unready arms.

 

“Hello. My name is Charla de la Roche,” she introduced herself to the secretary at the front desk, “and I am interested in having my wedding reception here.”

 

The receptionist smiled. “Lovely! Now when will that be?”

 

“June 5th,” Charla replied.

 

“June 5th!? Isn't that a bit soon?! When you said summer wedding I assumed August,” Eponine said shocked.

 

Charla laughed. “There's no time like the present.”

 

“Ma'am, do you mean June 5th of this year?” The receptionist said slowly.

 

Charla rolled her eyes, “yes of course.”

 

“We aren't free til at least next fall at the latest.” The young woman apologized.

 

Charla's eyes bulged, “what?”

 

“Most weddings usually book their locations well in-”

 

“I am not most weddings. I demand that my maid of honor and future mother-in-law sort this out with your superior,” Charla replied.

 

“What?” Eponine asked.

 

Helene only looked mildly shocked.

 

The receptionist was majorly confused. “Alright...I suppose that's possible. Ladies, if you'd follow me?”

 

The two women left, leaving Charla and R alone. Immediately, Charla went behind the desk and pulled up the calendar which contained all the scheduled weddings.

 

“Charla,” hissed R, “what are you doing?”

 

“I'm just seeing who has our date. That's all,” Charla said pursing her lips. “Ah. It's the Marlowe-Warchus Wedding.”

 

She jotted down the information, and closed the window just as the young woman came back with Eponine and Helene.

 

“Any luck?” Charla asked innocently.

 

“Like I said Ma'am-”

 

“Don't call me ma'am,” Charla's eyes narrowed.

 

The receptionist sighed. “Miss? Like I said, miss, we are already booked. You only wasted a very busy man's schedule. Are you happy?”

 

Charla grinned like the cat that got the canary. “Quite. If anything comes up, please do let us know.”

-

That evening Charla had pulled up an online phone book in search of one Melissa Warchus. When she glanced up from her computer she noticed R studying her with his sketchbook in hand. She may not be fond of his Impressionistic paintings, but his real life studies and sketches of her she treasured. She had once posed for him nude, and made him promise that no one would ever see the sketch until after her death. She was funny like that.

-

Grantaire curled up on the couch with his sketch book and used soft charcoal to draw. At first they were abstract lines and shapes, but the longer he drew the more defined they became. Page after page was filled with Enjolras' face, but they were always marred. In one the nose was all wrong, and the next one the smile was off. A third one, and he had disfigured the blond's lovely curls. He crumpled the pages angrily. With a fresh sheet he tried to draw his fiancee, certainly a sketch of her would appease her, but the eyes were all wrong. They were passionate and fierce, like Charla's, but they weren't quite right. They were too broken, to similar to ones he had last seen at the Cafe Musain. How had he never realized they had been so similar?

 

Charla moved from her spot in the armchair and placed a hand gently on R's arm. “is that my portrait? It's lovely Grantaire. You always have drawn me so well.”

 

Grantaire felt suffocated. “I need to go.”

 

Charla frowned. “Are you sure? We just got back home.”

 

“I need to find some inspiration,” Grantaire muttered.

 

“Am I not enough?” Charla sounded like she was teasing but with how things had been going, Grantaire couldn't tell.

 

He kissed her soft cheek before grabbing some things and wandering about. He had no clear destination, but found himself standing outside the Cafe Musain anyhow. Perhaps it was his subconscious that had led him there, or his fingers aching to perfect the sketches from before. Either way he found himself standing outside the brightly lit cafe, looking in on a scene that was intimate. One he would hate to walk in on.

 

Inside, Enjolras was standing at the head of a table talking easily with Courfeyrac and a man he did not know. Combeferre was by his side taking cups from Cosette and passing them along to Jehan and the others. It seemed just like high school, the only ones missing were Bahorel and Eponine and himself. Grantaire felt his throat constrict, his fingers fell numb.

 

“R, is that you?”

 

Grantaire turned to see Bahorel, just as eager and big as before.

 

“Bahor-” he couldn't even finish his words before he was swept into a large hug.

 

“God, man. Ep told me you were back, thought I might have run into you at the gym by now.” Bahorel stopped for a moment and looked at what Grantaire was still staring at. “Oh, the meetings. Are you coming in?”

 

“I don't know if I could,” confessed R.

 

“Come, drink with me. Do the others know you're here?”

 

Grantaire shrugged. “I ran into Enjolras. I'm sure he's told the Triumvirate by now.”

 

Bahorel laughed. “I had forgotten we had called them that. Come in, it'll be just like old times.”

 

Grantaire sighed, “are you sure I won't be intruding.”

 

“You were one of Enjolras' merry men before, I am sure he will welcome you back,” Bahorel jested.

 

“I wasn't one of his merry men, in your analogy I am Maid Marian…and I certainly am not that to him. Not anymore.”

 

Bahorel studied his friend silently. R had been gone a long time, but he hadn't changed… not really. Enjolras on the other hand, had mellowed having been defeated by the world, but some things hadn't changed. His feelings toward the brunet being one of them. It took a long time for Bahorel to be okay with what Enjolras had done to R, but when Jehan told him the truth his large heart had only pitied the two of them. He just wished he had been allowed to tell Eponine. Of course Jehan made him promise not to. There was no way of telling Eponine without her telling R...and if he knew the truth, he would be back in Enjolras' arms far from New York… Bahorel sighed. What a mess. “Come in, they will want to see an old friend.”

 

Grantaire let himself be dragged into the brightly lit cafe. Chatter stopped almost immediately.

 

“Look what the cat dragged in,” Courfeyrac said breaking the silence. “Good to see you R.”

 

“I am no cat,” Bahorel chuckled heartily.

 

“Perhaps not. Perhaps you are more of a panther,” mused Courfeyrac, referring to both his size and coloring.

 

Combeferre just rolled his eyes. “It's nice to see you, Grantaire.”

 

Grantaire shrugged. “Don't mind me. I'll just be sitting in the back.”

 

The friends nodded, and mostly returned to what they were doing. Cosette, the blonde hostess he had met before, glided over to him with a mug in her hands. She placed it before him.

 

“Hiya stranger,” she said easily. “Come to watch our leader at work?”

 

R shook his head. “I'm not really sure why I'm here. I am sorry if I'm intruding on anything important.”

 

Cosette laughed. “Oh not really. Enj hasn't been his self of late. We can hardly blame him though. Jeanne's condition is getting worse, and it's clear he's worried about her.”

 

“I visited her a few days ago,” R said softly.

 

Cosette's eyes brightened, “Oh I can see why he's gone for you. You are just the sweetest.”

 

“What?” R was sure he had misheard her.

 

The young woman's hand flew up to her mouth. “Nothing. I… forget it. I just hope she lasts long enough to see Enj settled.”

 

“Settled?” repeated Grantaire.

 

Cosette nodded. “When I visited her last, she said she wanted to see Enjolras taken care of. She said it was the only thing keeping her on the meds.”

 

“He has his friends,” R said, looking around the room.

 

Cosette shook her head. “I thought that too. Then I talked to my Papa. He's wise about these things. He explained that if he were in her place, and it was me working myself to the bone for him… he would want me to find someone who always had my best interests at heart. He reminded me that friends give an important kind of love, but a parent wants their child to find a love that even when you aren't feeling loving you still put them above you.”

 

Grantaire frowned. “I am afraid that I still don't follow.”

 

Cosette looked like she was thinking hard for a moment. The she started again. “Marriage isn't always about being in love. Like yeah that's what starts it, but that doesn't always last. You get into fights about stupid things, important things, things that seem important and aren't, things that seem stupid but are important... and you don't feel in love anymore. But you should be with someone that even when you fight, you still want to choose to be loving. You can always be loving, even if you aren't in love.”

 

Grantaire looked at the young woman. “One day I would very much like to meet your father.”

 

Cosette beamed, it meant her message had gotten through. “So your fiancee…?”

 

“What about her?”

 

“Even when you're angry, do you choose to be loving?” Cosette raised a brow. R's pause was all the answer she needed. “My father would be happy to talk to you and her. If you'd like I can give you his card.

 

R nodded dazedly. From her pocket she pulled out a card which read “Jean Valjean” and underneath it in small print “beekeeper/marriage counselor”.

 

Grantaire smiled, and resolved that he would not need either of Mr. Valjean's services. After all why try and fix what isn't broken?

 

For the rest of the meeting Grantaire drew. He drew more than he had in all his time at home. These weren't just rough sketches, he fleshed them out as much as he could. He captured Combeferre's posture, so similar to the boy he knew from high school, and Courfeyrac's smile. He drew Jehan laughing with Cosette. But the drawing he spent the longest on was Enjolras'. Where his previous sketches had been all wrong, this one was right. Here, in the middle of his own personal Cabinet, Enjolras was once again the passionate boy he had fallen in love with. Sure, there were more lines around his face, and a tiredness to his posture, but for right now there was a fire in his eyes which would not go out. Grantaire watched from his corner, perfectly content for the first time all day.

-

For the entirety of the meeting Enjolras was distracted. He hadn't expected R to come here...hadn't expected Bahorel to invite him in. Enjolras watched R like a hawk. He noticed that Grantaire had brought a sketchbook along and was drawing. This brought a small smile to his lips as he remembered all the meetings in high school when R had come along bringing his dog eared sketchbook. Enjolras remembered the thrill and honor he had had when R finally allowed him to page through it, he could never believe that Grantaire really saw him like that…or he had once upon a time, that is.

 

Enjolras still had several drawings of him that R had given to him as keepsakes. He treasured them, and whenever he began to loath himself he would bring them out again.

 

No, he hadn't expected R to come here, not tonight. But he was glad for his presence.

-

At home, Charla went into her shared bedroom and began dialing the number she had found. “Hello is this Melissa Warchus?”

 

“Yes, who's asking?”

 

“You don't know me, but I know your fiance, Liam Marlowe,” Charla said with a smirk. “He and I have quite a history. I thought you should know, girl to girl, he has never been one for monogamy not even in bed.”

 

The young woman let out a gasp.

 

“Shall I recount our exploits? I believe last time he beat and gagged me and another man together-”

 

“Who are you?” Melissa cried.

 

“I am just giving you a warning. Liam may seem like a good man, but believe me, no matter how gorgeous you are you will never be enough for him. Anytime you go out he will be looking, hoping that you will let another share your bed, and if not he will go find anyone and not tell you.” Melissa was crying at this point and Charla's smirk grew at the sound. “I suggest you call off the wedding and leave the scum bag to sluts like me, who are willing to do whatever it takes.”

 

Charla hung up. Now she just had to wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it has been so long. I will try to update more frequently once the school year has ended, and finals are over. Please let me know what you think so far. I love any feedback I get, even if it's short like "wow great job" or whatever. I love and appreciate it all! Lots of love, ~T.W.o.W.  
> Warning: the next chapter will contain sex between Charla and R. I am sorry.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some polyamory shaming happens in this chapter which in no way reflects my opinions on the matter. Just thought I would warn y'all in case that's a trigger for anyone. I will try to put warnings at the beginnings of chapters if there is anything that could be triggering.

“Oh babe, I just got the most wonderful news!” Grantaire was awakened early on Saturday by Charla's squealing. It appeared that she had just returned from her morning run, as she was in shorts and a tight tank top, sweat still glistening on her skin.

 

“Ugh, what is it,” he grumbled trying to tangle himself more into the sheets. He had gotten in late last night after Enjolras' meeting, and was never good at falling asleep. His mind had kept him up thinking about Enjolras' mouth and hands all night. And also that little furrow he got between his brows when he was particularly upset. That had kept him up the longest.

 

“The Halls have had a cancellation on June 5th,” Charla cooed. “Isn't it lovely.”

 

Grantaire sat up. “What do you mean a cancellation?”

 

Charla smiled. “I don't know guess the bride and groom got cold feet or something. Either way they called and asked if we would like to have our reception there. I already told them yes, and put down the deposit.”

 

“Why didn't you ask me about this?” Grantaire asked slowly.

 

Charla's smile dimmed, her eyes widened. “Oh babe, I didn't think. I'm sorry I was just so excited by the chance. I didn't want to miss out. Don't worry...it came from my account since I wasn't entirely sure. You are alright with it, right?”

 

Grantaire sighed, when she looked like that he could never stay mad at her, not really. “It'll be fine.”

 

She beamed once more. “Oh I am so happy! And today I will be going back to New York again and will see my friends!”

 

She must have been in a good mood, because the next thing she did was jump on R and kiss him passionately. One hand wrapped around his dark curls, pulling his mouth against hers, and the other ran down his body. He grunted as she grabbed hold of his flaccid cock. She laughed as it began to harden under her attentions. “Looks like someone has gotten excited.”

 

He turned her over, so now he was on top, her golden hair streaming over his pillow. Her eyes which usually were so calm and cool, had a wild look about them. She allowed him to rut against her leg, before lifting her hips so that he could take her shorts off. She took off his shirt, allowing herself to admire his muscles, before working at the tie on his sweatpants.

 

Grantaire was panting as he said, “let me get a condom.”

 

Charla laughed. “Don't worry, babe. I'm not fertile right now, we should be fine.”

 

R raised an eyebrow. Charla pushed herself up on her elbows. “I want to feel your dick in me without latex. Just you and me, babe.”

 

R shuddered, and pulled her to him once more. She moaned as he prepped her, his fingers becoming slick with her juices. Her fingernails marked his back, and she was sure to leave a hickey he wouldn't be able to hide. After all she was leaving for the day, and she wanted to make sure he wouldn't dare stray.

 

Charla spread her legs invitingly, as he thrust into her. Grantaire hissed to feel her tightness around him, all his muscles tense. “Right there, babe. Ah...ahhaha that's it, r-right fucking there.”

 

Grantaire began to pound into Charla as she continued to moan. He went to mark her, like she had done to him, but she pushed him off.

 

“Mm, nothing visible in the dress, babe.” Her coherency was quickly lost as she drew closer to orgasm. She came before he did, he pulled out of her, remembering how oversensitive she usually was after cumming. Drowsily she muttered, “let me help you with that.”

 

She efficiently jerked him off, his cum landing across her stomach and breasts. She looked slightly annoyed. “A little bit of a warning would have been nice.”

 

“Sorry,” Grantaire replied breathlessly, “I was-”

 

“Whatever. I'm getting into a shower,” Charla said pulling away.

 

“Want me to help you with that?” teased R flirtatiously.

 

“No thanks.” 

 

So much for her good mood.

-

With Charla out of the house, Grantaire felt a calm descend over his parents. Helene seemed exhausted and worn down. His father was unusually quiet. At first R was worried his parents had heard him and Charla having sex, but it clearly wasn't that. When he asked them what was wrong they wouldn't answer, it wasn't until later when his mother was making tea that he heard them talking.

 

“Oh, Augustin, what have we done?” Helene sounded distraught.

 

“Hush, Helene. It is his decision to make not ours. If she makes him happy who are we to-”

 

“Does she?” Helene said a bit too loudly.

 

Augustin rubbed his eyes. “I do not know _ma puce_.”

 

Helene's eyes were wide. “We should know. We are his parents. If it were love, shouldn't it be obvious to us?!”

 

“Not all love is loud and obvious,” Augustin reasoned. “Remember how he was with Enjolras.”

 

His mother was silent before, “yes.”

 

“That wasn't a loud sort of love either.”

 

“But it was clear they were devoted to one another,” Helene said helplessly.

 

Augustin nodded. “They were. But that is over now, Enjolras ended it. It was only a high school romance, after all.”

 

Helene sighed. “I know. Grantaire was devastated, but if he knew-”

 

“Hush, Helene. We promised Enjolras that we wouldn't tell.”

 

Grantaire's brow furrowed. What were his parents hiding about his breakup with Enjolras? What did they know that he didn't?

 

“I wish Bianca were home. She would be able to make him see clearly,” Helene sighed.

 

“Bianca has always wanted what is best for her big brother. If Charla is the one, Bianca wouldn't change R's mind and you know it.” Augustin replied.

 

“Hmph. I still don't know how I feel about her.”

 

“She is our guest,” Augustin reminded with kindness. “She is Grantaire's fiancee.”

 

Helene sighed again. She seemed to be doing a lot of that lately. “You are right. I just want to see him happy.”

 

“I know, love. I know.”

 

Grantaire felt like the room had shrunk, or that he had grown, for suddenly he felt trapped in his own home. There was no air. He had to get out. Grantaire grabbed his sketchbook and keys, before remembering that Charla had taken the car, and then left. Now that he was out however, he wasn't sure where to go. And then he remembered a promise he had made to a friend. Slowly he began the long walk to the hospital.

-

For Eponine the car ride to New York was torture. Charla seemed rather self interested, and besides her looks, Eponine had no clue how her best friend had ever fallen for her. “So...how did R propose?”

 

Charla sighed. “I am tired of lying.”

 

“What?”

 

“I have always told people that we were at a five star restaurant or in a park or whatever romantic shit that would make them jealous. In reality I found the ring, and agreed before he asked.”

 

“You mean you didn't give him the chance to ask you?”

 

Charla let out a raucous laugh. “If I had let him do that, I would have been waiting a long time. R is a lot of things, but brave isn't exactly one of them.”

 

Eponine frowned. Grantaire was one of the bravest men she knew. He constantly was battling with depression, he had dove into the pond to save Gavroche when he had fallen through the ice, not to mention the time he had defended Enjolras to a bunch of homophobic creeps at their high school. Grantaire was definitely brave, whether Charla could see it or not. “What about your future? Are you two thinking of having any kids?”

 

Another laugh. “Not for a long time. It took me years to get this figure, and I'm not giving it up for some screaming little brat.”

 

“Does Grantaire know how you feel?” Eponine asked guardedly.

 

Charla shrugged. “If he wants one so badly he can adopt, but I have zero interest in dropping my career to look after it.”

 

Eponine was shocked. “You really never talked about this before with him?” She knew how much R loved children. Hell, he had helped raise Azelma and Gav...he doted on Bianca when she had been born.

 

“I may have promised him kids,” Charla said, eyes never leaving the road, “but I told him that I wanted to wait for my career to take off. Maybe we'll have one later in life, when we can afford boarding school.”

 

“Grantaire won't like that much,” Eponine warned.

 

“So what? It's my body, he shouldn't get to dictate what happens to it.”

 

Eponine had a flashback to hearing those words come from Enjolras' mouth all those years ago when he was defending the right for women to get an abortion. Back then she had agreed with him, but hearing these words from Charla made her sick. She respected Charla's rights, but she could see why women like Charla gave feminism a bad name.

 

By the time they reached the city, Eponine was fuming. Everything from Charla's mouth showed how wrong she and R were for each other. Her friend was clearly being tricked, and there was little she could do without making things worse. Charla had made that very clear.

 

“It would be such a shame if Grantaire was disgraced, just before his big showcase this winter,” she had warned. “After all everyone who is everyone will be attending our wedding, and his showcase...would hate for something to happen...you know?”

 

And so Eponine was forced to remain silent.

 

Kleinfeld's look just like it did on TV. When Charla arrived she was greeted by a large group of women who were clearly waiting for her. Eponine was immediately uncomfortable as all these women were white, blonde and wealthy, much like Charla. Eponine had never been ashamed of her heritage, even if she detested her parents, but here she felt like she stood out like a sore thumb.

 

“Charla!” one of them, slightly older than the others, drawled in a Southern accent. “Who is this...charming… young lady you've brought with you?”

 

“Eponine, meet Mary-Lynn de Blanc. Mary-Lynn, this is Eponine Thenardier, my maid of honor. And here's Dianne, Cynthia, Catherine with a C, Katherine with a K, and Louisette.”

 

“Nice to meet you,” Eponine said, trying to mean it.

 

“So Charla, a country wedding. What did this man do to convince you to have a country wedding,” Dianne asked. “I believe you were quite set on having a wedding here in the city.”

 

“Yeah he must have a magic penis if he could get you to change your mind,” laughed Louisette.

 

Charla smirked. “Believe me, he does. Grantaire is very well endowed.”

 

The women shriek-laughed, while Eponine drew away. She really did not need to think about what Grantaire's dick looked like, even if she made plenty of jokes about it when she was a teenager.

 

“What I wouldn't give to see him undressed. Those artsy types always get my blood flowing,” Catherine with a C sighed.

 

Charla said pointedly, “he's mine.”

 

Mary-Lynn laughed. “I know why you don't want a city wedding. Too many temptations here. You don't trust him.”

 

“I don't trust any man. Men are dogs. Right Eponine?” Charla asked.

 

Eponine was caught like a deer in headlights. She thought about all Grantaire and Bahorel had done when she had asked for help...what the Triumvirate was even willing to do for her, a Thenardier, when she needed aid. She knew so many good men who had helped her raise Gav, men who inspired him not to turn out like their father. The blonde clones all turned on her, waiting to see what she would say. “Not all men?”

 

“Ha, you sound just like them!” crowed Katherine with a K.

 

“Very funny joke,” agreed Catherine with a C.

 

“Oh I like you,” Mary-Lynn ran her eyes up and down Eponine's body, looking like a hungry lioness.

 

Charla just watched her maid of honor appraisingly.

 

A woman dressed in all black approached the group. “De la Roche, party of eight?”

 

“Yes.” Charla answered.

 

“And who's the bride?”

 

“That would be me,” Charla replied smugly.

 

“Alright, why don't you come with me. Your friends and family can find somewhere to sit and let's get started.” The woman led them farther into the store. She led the bridesmaids to the salon, telling them to stay put, before taking Charla to a fitting room.

 

As soon as they left, Catherine and Katherine got up to go look at dresses for fun. In just a few minutes they managed to make a mess of their own, and one of them was wearing a poofy white dress.

 

“So, Eponine, you know the groom quite well,” Mary-Lynn started in her slow Southern drawl.

 

“Yes,” Eponine hated being with these women alone.

 

“Is Charla his type?” Mary-Lynn continued.

 

“His type?”

 

“Fit, blonde, pretty,” listed Dianne from her seat across from Mary-Lynn.

 

Eponine thought that it wasn't so much looks that mattered to Grantaire...even if that description fit both Enjolras and his fiancee...and she supposed that description fit all of these women too. “I guess? But I-”

 

“So we're his type,” Louisette continued.

 

“Um..”

 

“You see, Eponine,” Mary-Lynn said, “we all hate Charla.”

 

“Hate her,” agreed Cynthia, who up until now had seemed pretty quiet.

 

“We all want to see her knocked down a peg,” Mary-Lynn started again. “So we have a bet going. We want to see who can boink the groom before the wedding.”

 

Eponine looked horrified. The other women laughed.

 

“We're tired of Charla's constant bragging. We want to see if he's as good as she says,” Louisette snickered.

 

“R- Grantaire isn't like that,” sputtered Eponine.

 

“Any man can be seduced. Especially if it's by something he likes,” Dianne said, her legs spreading as if to demonstrate.

 

“You of course don't count,” Cynthia commented, “as you've probably already fucked him.”

 

Eponine's jaw dropped. “We're just friends.”

 

“Sure, like how I'm friends with the pool boy at the country club,” Louisette laughed. “Or how Dianne is friends with her father's business partners.”

 

“Not like that. We're just friends,” Eponine protested.

 

“Fine, you can be out like Mary-Lynn.”

 

Eponine turned to the unofficial leader of the pack. “Oh darlin'” she drawled, “I'm hungry, just not for the kind of meat a man can offer.”

 

Eponine felt sick. As subtly as she could she moved away from Mary-Lynn. The Catherines returned, forcing her to sit next to the older woman.

 

“So did you tell her about the bet?” asked Katherine.

 

“Yes, we did,” Mary-Lynn said, eying Eponine hungrily.

 

“You told her she couldn't participate, right?” asked Catherine petulantly.

 

“Of course. What do you take us for, a pack of dumb blondes?” asked Cynthia. That got everyone laughing, except Eponine.

 

“Grantaire really isn't that type of man,” Eponine said.

 

“Sure he is,” Dianne countered.

 

“He hangs out with this pervy Mormon couple-”

 

“Katherine, they aren't Mormon's you dumb fuck, it's one woman and two men,” corrected Catherine.

 

“Fine reverse Mormon,” Katherine corrected.

 

“That's not a thing,” sighed Louisette.

 

“It's messed up,” agreed Dianne.

 

“Yes,” Louisette sighed, “but I wouldn't mind having too men to fuck me constantly...so long as they weren't fucking each other too. That what's messed up.”

 

“That's how we know he'll be fine fucking one of us,” Cynthia agreed. “A man with friends like that could never stick to one woman. Especially if her cunt is as arctic as Charla's.”

 

“What's so wrong with wanting to give the groom the best fuck of his life before he gets chained to that icy ball and chain,” Louisette asked.

 

Eponine couldn't believe how hypocritical and ignorant these women were. Charla came out in her first dress, and everyone oohed and aahed over it. Once she was gone however, it didn't take long for them to criticize her.

 

“That dress looked awful on her body type,” Cynthia started.

 

“It would look better on me,” Catherine sighed. “If only I had started chatting to Grantaire at that gala before she did. Then I would be the one marrying him.”

 

“As if,” Louisette hissed. “He would never fall for you.”

 

Mary-Lynn rolled her eyes. “Men make women stupid. Don't you agree?”

 

She was saying this to Eponine, who had somehow still remained forced into the seat beside her.

 

“Um, no?”

 

“You're sweet, sugar,” Mary-Lynn drawled out, one hand going to Eponine's knee.

 

“Look, I'm flattered really, but I'm not interested-”

 

Mary-Lynn's hand crept up Eponine's leg. “You and I are the same. We both are from the country. We're strong independent women, who don't need a man to pleasure us.”

 

Eponine shuddered, just as she was about to do something she might have regretted, Charla reapeared. This time she was wearing a sleek, silky dress that was open all down the back. There was a slit that went up to her mid thigh, and sweetheart neckline revealed quite a bit of cleavage.

 

“It's perfect,” sighed Mary-Lynn, meaning it this time.

 

“You look like a goddess,” Catherine agreed.

 

“Like a sex goddess,” affirmed Louisette.

 

“I think it's the one,” Dianne chimed in.

 

“If it's not, you're crazy.” Katherine nodded.

 

Cynthia smirked, “absolutely, completely you.”

 

Charla was beaming triumphantly at this point, when she turned to Eponine. “Well? What does my maid of honor think?”

 

Eponine pursed her lips. “It's a bit sophisticated...for a country wedding.”

 

Charla chuckled. “Oh, my sweet naive girl. I may be having my wedding in the middle of nowhere, but that does not mean it will be ill attended. Anyone who is anyone is coming. There will be security to keep out unwelcome guests and paparazzi. It will be the most remembered event of the season, so help me god.”

 

“But Charla-” began Eponine, thinking about how the chapel they were getting married in really wasn't suitable for that large a wedding.

 

“It's what's best for Grantaire. He needs this before his show. It won't succeed without this.” Charla said cruelly.

 

Eponine shut her mouth.

 

“Well it's settled. This is the one,” Charla beamed. Only in Eponine's opinion she looked more like a snake which has found a den of rabbits.

 

“Wonderful,” the attendant smiled. “Let me get some champagne for you all.”

 

Charla's posture dropped as she made her way over to a seat. With no regard for the dress she sat down and began to examine her nails.

 

“So how much does this cost?” asked Catherine leaning in.

 

“Mmm, about $14,000,” Charla said nonplussed.

 

Eponine frowned. “You told me your budget was $7,500.”

 

Charla frowned and sat up. “No I told Grantaire that. I didn't expect him to tell a nosy busybody.”

 

“Charla, you are spending over twice as much on the gown than you told Grantaire,” Eponine protested. “Not to mention with the cost of the veil and alterations… Is he buying this dress for you?”

 

Charla rolled her eyes. “Of course.”

 

“Does he have that kind of-”

 

“Once he is a famous artist he will make this by selling a painting. It is nothing to worry about, Miss Thenardier,” Charla said coolly. “I don't even see why I should be taking your advice. As I recall, you started off stealing everything your parents told you to. Clearly they aren't good with money.”

 

Eponine snapped her mouth shut.

 

“That's what I thought,” Charla murmured. The other women all laughed.

 

“I'm going to the bathroom.” Eponine growled, standing abruptly. She stormed off. Once she was alone, she pulled out her phone. “R?”

 

“Hey, Ep. I'm kinda busy right now. Can we talk later?”

 

“14,000 dollars,” Eponine said slowly.

 

“Come again?”

 

“That's how much Charla is spending on her dress,” Eponine replied.

 

“Wait, what? I'm going to have to call you back Eponine...and thanks. I'll talk to her.” Grantaire hastily hung up, leaving Eponine alone in a store in New York with a bunch of catty women.

-

“Who was that?” Jeanne asked from her hospital bed.

 

R shook his head. He wanted to forget his whole conversation as he knew it would just lead to an argument with Charla later. “It's nothing important.”

 

Jeanne smiled weakly, although she knew he was lying. “I wanted to thank you for coming, Grantaire. I am glad to see your art again before I die.”

 

Grantaire flinched. “Please Jeanne, don't talk that way, you almost sound like me.” He was of course referring to his bad days, the ones where Charla had to constantly remind him of his worth and talent...those were his most miserable... Grantaire looked up from his contemplation to see the older woman looking pointedly at him. 

 

“It's not a question of if I die from cancer, it's a question of when. You and I both know that. I wish Enj knew it too. Or at least would accept it.” Jeanne sighed.

 

Grantaire frowned. He couldn't imagine losing his mother, meddlesome as she could be. He said as much to Jeanne.

 

“Oh R. It is natural for a parent to die before their child,” Jeanne said.

 

“But not early, not because of cancer,” Grantaire protested.

 

Jeanne smiled wryly, and when she did she looked so much like Enjolras. “Perhaps not, but cancer is natural. It wants to live just as much as I do.”

 

Grantaire shook his head. “You're death will in no way be natural, Jeanne.”

 

The woman smiled. “You sound just like my son.”

 

“We never did agree on much,” mused R.

 

Jeanne smirked. Grantaire and Enjolras had always had their differences, but they had more which complimented the other than antagonized. That's why they had been so good for one another, and why she had been a bit heartbroken when they had called it off. “I wanted to apologize for the way Enj treated you in the end. I didn't raise him that way, and I can't imagine why Courfeyrac and Combeferre would support his decision to break up through email.”

 

“It's in the past, hardly matters now,” Grantaire said gruffly, “let's keep looking at the drawings.”

 

They continued to chat, until visiting hours were nearly over. There were hundreds of sketches, and Jeanne insisted on looking at each one. She like talking about them, asking him what he had been thinking of or doing, how he had managed this one, or what was the inspiration for that one. She complimented each one, admiring them more than he thought rough sketches ought to deserve. Once that was through, Grantaire began telling her of his time in New York. He told awkward college stories that made her laugh, and described all the amazing places and people he had met. Jeanne was enthralled, and again Grantaire was reminded of the similarities between her and Enjolras. He would do anything to make either one of them smile. Jeanne's smile was much like her son's. It was life giving. He felt that she deserved to smile more, especially now. So he told stories that he knew would get her to smile and laugh.

 

“And where did that hickey come from?” Jeanne teased. She was still laughing as she reached a hand out to Grantaire's neck. Grantaire blushed, but he was laughing a bit too.

 

That was how Enjolras found them. He hadn't heard his mother laugh in months...not really. He saw how easily Grantaire was chatting with her, how much they both smiled and it hurt. Enjolras was in love and it was killing him knowing that Grantaire had moved on. Enjolras clenched his hand, until his fist was white. Tears pricked at his eyes, and he wasn't sure if it was from the pain or his own sadness. He had to move on. It was time. He couldn't bear to live with the heartache for any longer.

 

Enjolras didn't visit his mother that night. Instead he went straight to his shift at the Corinth and afterward he brought a man back to his bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ma puce- a French term of endearment like my sweetheart or darling
> 
> I hope to have another chapter up by next weekend, but I am not sure as this next week I will be very busy. Thank you to everyone who commented on the last chapter, I loved reading what you had to say. Keep it up, haha. Also shout out to anyone who left a kudos, you guys are the sweetest. I will hopefully have the next chapter up when I have the time (maybe next weekend or the following one?) Lots of love ~T.W.o.W.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: mentions of attempted suicide, also really really insensitive comments to someone about depression/attempted suicide, manipulative/verbal abuse, also casually throwing around mental illness like it's something you can control....um yeah Charla is a bitch...

Grantaire got home first, and waited for Charla to return from New York. He didn't have to wait long. Soon enough he heard her stumble into the house, shutting the door loudly behind her. She teetered down the hall, but stopped when he called out to her. “14,000 dollars. Really, Charla? We don't have that kind of money.” 

 

“Hello, babe,” Charla giggled as she approached him. “I found the most beautiful dress- hic- you'll just lov-”

 

“Charla, are you drunk?” R asked seriously.

 

She shrugged. “It was just a glass or two of champagne. To celebrate finding the dress.”

 

Grantaire frowned. “Did you drive home?”

 

Charla nodded. “What's the harm? I'm just a bit tipsy.”

 

Grantaire rubbed his eyes. “I am not having this conversation tonight. Get to bed. I'll bring you water and an aspirin for tomorrow.”

 

“Oh please,” scoffed Charla. “I'm not even drunk.”

 

“Yes but you know how I feel about driving while under the influence,” Grantaire said, herding her to bed.

 

Charla whipped around to look him in the face. “Is this about that girl you hit last year? She didn't even die.”

 

“She was in intensive care for months, Charla. She had to go to physical therapy,” Grantaire explained patiantly.

 

“Whatever. I would like to point out they didn't even sue you for the money. You offered it,” Charla slurred. “Talk about wasting money.”

 

“Of course, it was the right thing to do-”

 

“The right thing would have been setting it aside for our wedding,” Charla argued. “Then I could have gotten my dress without this guilt trip.”

 

“Charla, you don't mean that,” Grantaire started.

 

“Oh yes I do. You always keep talking about this girl so much. You quit drinking for her, started going to AA for her. Hell you even get coffee with her, and check in with her. What about me? What have you done for me?”

 

“Charla, you're drunk,” begged Grantaire, wishing for this conversation to be over.

 

“When I tell you to stop going off your meds, do you listen? Or when I ask you to take out the garbage? Or that I wanted to get married in NEW YORK not some HELL HOLE in the middle of nowhere, did you listen to me then, R,” she sneered his nickname. “No. You go off your meds and then want to off yourself. You make me stop work so that I can make sure you don't slit your wrists or OD. You never do household chores, because you're too depressed or in an artistic fervor. It's like you're fucking bipolar...only you aren't crazy enough for those meds, I checked. I am always cleaning up after you. Your paint. Your life. Your vomit and blood when you attempt suicide. God you can't even get that right. And then you brought me here to meet your parents. You swore they were good loving people, and I believed you. I should have known your mother was a manipulative bitch. I can see why you're depressed now. I can't even imagine what your childhood must have been like. She's got you and your father wrapped around her finger. Poor man is blind and useless. He's only good for shit jokes. Guess I see where you get it from.”

 

“Charla, stop.” Grantaire croaked.

 

Charla merely glared at him before stomping off to bed. In the doorway, Grantaire caught his mother's eye. She had been awakened by the screaming and had come to investigate.

 

“She doesn't mean those things maman,” Grantaire said tiredly. “She's just drunk.”

 

Helene looked concerned. There were so many things she wanted to ask. Is she always like this when she drinks? Did you really try to kill yourself so many times? Why did you bring her here? Why do you love her? Why are you marrying her? Why? Why? Why?… Instead she asked, “did you really hit a girl last year?”

 

R looked a little relieved that they were addressing this, and not Charla's behavior. “Yeah. I did. Charla and I were on vacation, and I was feeling awful. So I went out to a bar to get something to drink. I thought I would be fine, but I totaled the rental car, and almost crushed the girl I had hit. Her name is Alice. We meet up occasionally to talk about life, theology, the future...”

 

“Sounds like she should meet Jean,” Helene was smiling.

 

“Prouvaire? They would hit it off instantly,” R said, his smile returning.

 

“And you have stopped drinking?”

 

“After almost killing her, I couldn't bear to pick up another bottle of liquor,” confessed Grantaire. “Alice has supported me. Thank God her family could see it in their hearts to forgive me. You'll meet them at the wedding.”

 

“Get to bed, R,” Helene said pulling her sweater around her more tightly. “You've had a long night.”

 

“I must get water for Charla. She'll have a headache in the morning if I don't,” R said.

 

“She'll have one even if you do,” mused Helene dryly. “She deserves it.”

 

“You don't mean that.”

 

“No one calls my man useless,” Helene said sharply. “Either of my men.”

 

R blushed a little. He went over to his mother and gave her a peck on the cheek. “Thank you, maman. Have a good night.”

 

Helene's smile stayed on her lips til her son had left the room. She made her way back to the kitchen where she had left her phone. She dialed the number, damning the expenses.

 

“Bianca?”

 

“Maman?” a drowsy voice replied on the end of the line.

 

“I am sorry for waking you, but I need you to come home,” Helene said.

 

“What? R's wedding isn't for months, I don't need to be there for a couple weeks,” Bianca yawned.

 

Distantly Helene could hear a girl asking, “B? Who's that?”

 

“Look, this girl is all wrong for R. I need you're help in getting him-”

 

“You know R is stubborn. Nothing I could say-”

 

“Not true, Bianca. Come home. Soon,” pleaded Helene.

 

Bianca let out a sigh. “I'll see what I can do.”

 

Helene smiled. “Good.”

 

“Is that all?”

 

“Tell your girlfriend that I am excited to meet her when you fly over-”

 

“Ugh.”

 

Bianca hung up the phone. Helene just sighed. Perhaps she was a bit manipulative, but she was starting to get worried for Grantaire.

 

In his bedroom, R watched the sleeping form of his fiancee. He knew she had said those words to hurt him, and that she didn't really mean them...but it worked. He was hurting. Less for what she had aimed at him, and more of what she had said about his parents. He couldn't imagine not bringing his children home for the holidays to see them, or having them be a part of their life. He looked at how peaceful Charla was… she didn't mean those things. She was drunk after all. She hadn't really meant for those words to hurt as much as they did. She was drunk, he could put up with this...it's not like he could do any better. Who would want him with his anxiety and depression? No one, he knew that. He knew that she knew. No, she hadn't meant what she had said. Not really. Not really. Not really. But a small voice in his head asked _“and if she did…?”_

 

Grantaire shook his head. He crawled into bed with her, his brain repeating her words:

 

_“I am always cleaning up after you. Your paint. Your life. Your vomit and blood when you attempt suicide. God you can't even get that right.”_

 

He turned over, hoping that sleep, like morphine, would numb the pain in his chest.

-

Enjolras woke up feeling loose limbed and content. It had been a long time since he was this happy. However when he rolled over, he found his bed was empty. On the pillow beside him was a note.

 

_“Last night was fun. I'll be in town for a little while longer, call me if you are ever lonely again: xxx-555-6774. Or you can find me at the B &B, room 134. ~F.”_

 

Enjolras let out a small smile. He stretched, allowing himself to enjoy the soreness in his leg muscles and ass. He slowly rose and got dressed for his morning shift at Feuilly's. He padded out to the kitchen to find Courfeyrac already there.

 

“Sounds like someone had fun last night,” Courfeyrac said with a cheeky smile.

 

“Mm, it was divine,” Enjolras said pouring his coffee.

 

Courfeyrac laughed, Enjolras wasn't usually like this. “So do you think you'll ever see him again?”

 

“He said he was interested if I ever got lonely,” Enjolras replied easily. “He left me his number.”

 

Courfeyrac's smile dimmed. “So, do you think you're gonna use it?”

 

Enjolras' back was turned, so he didn't see his friend's concern. “If he can bring me to pleasure like that? Probably.”

 

“So you're really fine having sex like this,” Courfeyrac stated.

 

At the somber tone, Enjolras turned. “What's wrong with casual sex? You seem to have it all the time with men you meet in bars.”

 

“I am not hung up on my high school sweetheart.”

 

“Neither am I,” Enjolras said raising a brow.

 

Courfeyrac paused. “You mean you are over R. Completely?”

 

“Yes..well no. But I am working on getting over him. He's about to be married Courf. I can't keep making myself miserable like this by waiting for something that's not going to happen.”

 

Courfeyrac nodded. “Okay. Okay. I get it Enj...just be careful with this guy, okay?”

 

Enjolras smiled weakly. “Thanks, Courf. I gotta go, Feuilly will be expecting me soon.”

 

Coufeyrac nodded. “Bye Enj.”

 

Once the blond had left, Courfeyrac called up Combeferre. “Hey, Ferre.”

 

“What's up?” Combeferre asked. “You sound worried.”

 

“Enjolras brought home a man from the Corinth last night. I think he's trying to get over R,” Courfeyrac explained.

 

“Isn't that a good thing. We wanted him to move on-”

 

“But like this? The guy sounds like some skeevy fuck buddy, and that he is taking advantage of Enjolras. I don't like it Ferre.”

 

“What can we do? Enjolras needs to make his own mistakes, live his own life. You've got to admit this is better than him pining over an engaged man,” Combeferre said slowly.

 

Courfeyrac sighed. “I suppose. I'm just worried for him.”

 

“We'll look out for him. Make sure he doesn't get hurt, and if he does we'll be there for him when he needs us. For now, that's all we can do.”

 

“When did you get so wise?” marveled Courfeyrac.

 

“I've always been wise,” joked Combeferre. “Now I have to go. Call me if anything develops.”

 

-

 

After Enjolras' shift at Feuilly's he rode his bike back to the Cafe Musain. Through the large glass windows he could already see R was sitting there. He appeared to be talking with Jehan, who looked like he was on his way out. Enjolras could feel his heart pounding, but he was less afraid than he had been when Grantaire had fallen back into his life.

 

“Good afternoon,” he said as he passed Jehan.

 

The other man smiled. “Afternoon!”

 

Enjolras went to the back room to put away his things. As he went to go take some orders, a hand reached out to grab his arm.

 

“R?” he sounded slightly strangled, and prayed that Grantaire couldn't tell.

 

“I was hoping we could talk. I've seen you so much recently, but we haven't caught up. I would like to if you'd be amenable.”

 

Enjolras was shocked. “Um.”

 

“Look, I know you're at work right now, but maybe sometime in the evening –?” started R.

 

“I have night shifts.”

 

“Is there any time you aren't working?” R laughed nervously.

 

“I'll, um … I'll get back to you. Nice seeing you R.”

 

Enjolras walked, ran, away. Grantaire slumped into his booth. He was worried about his friend. Enjolras seemed so tired every time he had run into him. Grantaire had a suspicion that he was working himself to the bone because of Jeanne's bills, and he wished there was something he could do to help. Grantaire sighed. He had tried reaching out, and he supposed he would try again, but Enjolras' slight rejection had hurt him more than he would care to admit.

 

“Funny seeing you here,” it was Cosette and seemed to be holding hands with a tall gangly man, Grantaire didn't recognize. “Grantaire, this is Marius. We were just on our way out, but mind if we sit for a minute.”

 

Grantaire shook his head. “Nice to meet you Marius.”

 

The young man nodded.

 

“So why are you here?” asked Cosette. She looked around the cafe, to see Enjolras serving a table across the way. “Or can I guess?”

 

“Me and my fiancee had this huge fight,” Grantaire frowned. “Or rather we were about to, but she was drunk and I just didn't want to fight with her then. But when she woke up she acted like nothing happened. I suppose she forgot. Anyway I just had to get out of the house.”

 

Cosette's smile had disappeared. “Oh, sweetheart! I'm so sorry.”

 

“Yeah, it's not a big deal. There are some things we need to discuss-”

 

“Have you considered meeting with my father? He is very good at his job,” Cosette said earnestly.

 

“I don't think we need a marriage counselor, Cosette.”

 

“I-”

 

“Cosette. Let's go,” Marius said pulling the girl away. Possibly for the first time ever, Marius had correctly read the situation and had acted with tact.

 

Grantaire shot him a grateful look.

 

“Alright. Bye, Grantaire. I hope you and Charla can work things out.”

 

As if Cosette had cast a magic spell, Charla entered the restaurant with a large pair of sunglasses, and a black sunhat on her head. Slowly she made her way over to Grantaire's table.

 

“I thought I would find you here.”

 

“Charla, about last night –“

 

“No. Let me. I should apologize for the dress. I know we had a budget, but it was so perfect. I know you'll love it, Grantaire. I just had to get it. I want our wedding to be perfect,” Charla said. “And for the drinking… Eponine didn't know how much I had drunk, otherwise I am sure she would have stopped me. I know you don't like drunk drivers, but I didn't think anything was going to happen. I am sorry babe. Am I forgiven?”

 

Grantaire would have been a jerk to say no to such an earnest apology, he would have felt like shit to drag this argument out longer than necessary… after all she was offering him an out. “Yes, Charla. Of course you are forgiven.”

 

“Thank you babe.”

 

“But what you said last night, about my parents – “

 

“What did I say?” Charla asked cocking her head.

 

“What do you remember from when you got home?”

 

Charla thought for a moment. “I remember you screaming at me for the cost of my dress. I know we argued about it, but you sent me to bed realizing I was drunk. Was there anything else?”

 

“You mean you don't remember what you called my parents?” Grantaire asked seriously.

 

Charla paled. “No. What did I say?”

 

“I'm not going to repeat those words here. But you owe at least my mother an apology. She caught some of the argument.”

 

Charla filed that information for later. “Of course, babe, I'll do whatever it takes.”

 

“They're probably back from church by now. You'll probably find mother in her garden,” Grantaire said tiredly.

 

“Will you be coming home with me, babe?” Charla asked reaching her hand across the table.

 

Grantaire would be a dick to refuse it. After a moment of hesitation, “yes.”

 

They left together, hand in hand. Enjolras watched them go. He pulled out his phone and sent off a message, _I need to see you tonight._

 

Within ten minutes he got a reply. _Come to my room at eleven, I'll be waiting ~F._

 

Enjolras swallowed, warmth pooling in his gut already. He could forget Grantaire, the way he and Charla had looked at one another, had held hands. He could forget.

 

-

 

Charla couldn't help the smile on her face at home. Grantaire had wandered off somewhere, and she was alone again. She remember everything that had happened last night, she wasn't completely plastered. She was just glad she could convince R that she had forgotten. If only his meddling mother hadn't heard any of it. It was going to be much harder to get Helene to like her again, but Charla was sure she could do it.

 

-

Helene was in her garden when Charla found her.

 

“About last night,” Charla began diplomatically.

 

“You were drunk.” Helene said coldly, she didn't look at Charla.

 

“Yes, I was. However that does not give me the right to have said what I said. I shouldn't have said those things, Helene. About you, or your husband or even R.”

 

“Do you remember what you said?” Helene asked straightening up.

 

Charla frowned demurely, making sure to crease her forehead as little as possible. “I am afraid that I don't, but Grantaire assures me that it was awful. I am sorry for what I said.”

 

“Thank you, Charla,” Helene replied stiffly.

 

“I'd like to make it up to you. Perhaps I could pay for Bianca's flight from Paris? I know it's been awhile since any of you have seen her,” Charla offered.

 

Helene looked the young woman over. “No. I don't think that will be necessary. Bianca is coming home in a few weeks with her girlfriend.”

 

“Will they be staying here?” Charla momentarily lost her composure.

 

“Yes. Will that be a problem?” Helene raised a brow.

 

“It's just you have such a small house, lovely as it is. Can it really hold all six of us?” Charla asked. She wasn't exactly fond of sharing the space with Grantaire's parents, not to mention two other strange women.

 

“I am not sending my daughter to a B&B,” Helene reproached.

 

“Of course not, but this girlfriend perhaps-”

 

“By that logic, you should be at the B&B and Grantaire should be here,” Helene said saccharinely.

 

“But that's different, we're getting married.” Protested Charla.

 

“Yes, and Bianca's family.” Helene responded coolly.

 

Charla frowned, not caring about early wrinkles, “I am too, Helene. I am marrying your son.”

 

“Family doesn't call family manipulative and useless.”

 

“I just call it like I see it,” sneered Charla.

 

“And so do I.” Helene said easily. “And you are not family.”

 

“You can't stop this wedding. It's going to happen, whether you approve or not.” Charla huffed.

 

Helene raised a brow. “If I have anything to do with it, you will not marry my son. He deserves so much more than you.”

 

Charla stepped back, “excuse me?”

 

“You heard me. You pretend to be sweet, and from a good family, but you're nothing but a social climbing piece of trash. My son deserves someone who loves him for his gifts and flaws, who doesn't make him feel bad for his depression, who doesn't mock his attempted suicide.” Helene's voice shook.

 

Charla turned her head to yell, “Grantaire, we're leaving! We're going to the Thenardier B&B. Tonight!” She turned to the older woman. “I won't let you poison my fiancee with your words. You don't know what's good for R anymore. His career needs me.”

 

“You don't even believe in his talents? What kind of wife will you be?” Helene marveled.

 

“A perfect one,” Charla said whipping her head away. The blonde stormed off, crushing the daisies Helene had just planted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Barricade Day guys!!!!! YASSSSSSSSS *cries in a corner*  
> I should be working on my Performing Arts Portfolio Exam (which ironically is about Schonberg, Boublil, and Les Mis) but I needed a brain break. Thank you for all the sweet comments! I love reading them and replying to them. Your words help to motivate me to keep writing. Since next week is my exam week and graduation I am not sure if I will be able to have a chapter up next weekend, I hope to but don't know yet. Please let me know if I need to add more to my warning at the beginning, I really want you guys to feel safe and non-triggered. Thanks for the kudos, and keep those comments coming! ~T.W.o.W.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: abuse and manipulation  
> Sorry this is so short!

After the argument, Grantaire and Charla had ended up taking their things to Eponine's. She had a spare room, and insisted they don't go to her parents'. Eponine wasn't thrilled to have Charla in her home, but she was willing to do anything for her R. Besides Gavroche also seemed pretty excited to have Grantaire in the house with them as well. The teen couldn't stop chatting with R, sharing bad puns and asking lots of questions about R's life. Eponine liked to see her brother have a positive role model. There hadn't always been a lot of those, and truth be told she was a little afraid of introducing the boy to Bahorel. She was pretty sure that if she did, someone would end up with a split lip… and it wouldn't be either of those two! Speaking of violence, as the wedding planning got more underway, tensions rose.

 

Everything had became so much harder since Charla and Helene refused to talk to one another. Helene came over to help, but she never spoke with the bride-to-be, making the space filled with awkward energy. Eponine and Grantaire tried to diffuse it to the best of their ability, but nothing seemed to help. Charla's plans grew, shaping into an elaborate and tasteful wedding. It soon became clear that they would need an outdoor wedding, since the chapel would not hold the 300+ guests that were currently on the list. However the bride did not seem to like the idea all that much. She argued that the weather was just too much of a variable. In fact she said it so many times, that both Helene and Eponine, could quote her word for word.

 

“Maybe we could cut the list down,” offered Eponine tiredly. She of course was looking at the six page list Charla had compiled of guests.

 

“Fine.” Charla huffed, reaching for Grantaire's much shorter one.

 

“Um...” Eponine frowned. “I was actually thinking we should cut your list, Charla.”

 

“Mm no, don't be ridiculous. These people are important. I am afraid I can't cut them. They are valuable business connections. Now here,” Charla paused pointing at R's list. “Is it really necessary to invite Miss Spencer and her family?”

 

“Alice has been kind to me, Charla. She matters to me. Her family matters to me. I want them here.” R protested.

 

Charla sighed. “Very well. I was just trying to do what Eponine asked. What about Musichetta?”

 

“Her boyfriends are in the wedding, Charla. She's one of my best friends. She's coming.” Grantaire reprimanded softly.

 

“Ugh. Are people like that even allowed on consecrated ground? I'm sure it's a sin of some sort,” Charla snorted.

 

“I never took Charla for being religious. But then I suppose a snake like her belongs in the Garden of Eden to tempt Eve,” Helene said conversationally to Eponine.

 

“Maman!” Grantaire stood up. “Enough.”

 

Charla just looked stricken. “Alright. I see how it is. Let's cut my list of friends, clearly that is the only way to please you people.”

 

“Charla. Stop it, you're not helping. I think we need to take a break for the night.” Grantaire turned on her.

 

The women nodded, Eponine walked Helene to the door talking to her softly, as Charla paged through the list of things she had to do. Grantaire went out the side door to sit on the porch and think. A few minutes later, Eponine joined him.

 

“Well that was rough,” she said dryly.

 

“You shouldn't have said anything about cutting guests. It's fine, an outdoor wedding will be beautiful.” Grantaire replied tiredly.

 

“It's clear that's not what Charla wants.” Eponine replied, “but then she wants all those guests too.”

 

“It's important to her. She doesn't have any family, Ep. Not like you and I do. All she has is those contacts and friends.”

 

At the word 'friends' Eponine snorted. “She has to compromise.”

 

“She's compromised already by agreeing to have the wedding here,” Grantaire said repeating what Charla had said to him before.

 

Eponine frowned. “Is this what you want, R?”

 

“What?”

 

“This wedding, is it what you want?”

 

“Truthfully I thought a small country wedding would be nice, but I get that-”

 

“What about the marriage afterward. A wedding lasts one day, but marriage? It lasts a lifetime. Is this how you want to spend your life?” Eponine asked desperately.

 

“I-I...”

 

“I've seen bad marriages, R. Hell I lived through one with my parents. If you aren't happy now, during the joyful newlywed/marriage phase, how will you feel in ten years? Or thirty?” Eponine pushed.

 

“Enough, 'Ponine. I am happy.”

 

“This isn't happiness. This is-”

 

“I said enough. God, I thought when you offered the spare room, I thought you would be cool about this. Charla is my fiancee, and I love her. I understand that you don't get it, but you don't have to. You just need to be there for me.”

 

“I understand, Grantaire. I'm sorry,” Eponine's big dark eyes shone brightly in the night.

 

Grantaire shrugged and stood up. He went back into the house and found Charla sitting at the couch. 

 

“I heard what you said to her babe,” Charla's voice was soft. “You're right. She shouldn't have acted like that. I am beginning to think no one here gets us. We only have one another. They don't get our love, R. They don't see how good I am for you, how I am the best thing that has happened to you… New York is the best thing that has happened to us. They don't see, they'll never see. It's just you and me against everyone else.”

 

Grantaire pulled in her into a hug, tears running down his cheeks. Her warmth enveloped him, one hand stroking his hair.

 

“Hush, babe. I've got you. You don't need them. We have each other. We don't need them. I'll call my friends and they can take over the planning. From here on out it'll just be you and me.”

 

Grantaire squeezed her tightly, silent sobs wracking his body. He didn't know that he could ever feel this lonely.

 

Charla smiled. “I've got you. Let's go to bed, R. I've got you.”

 

Grantaire was kept up thinking about how he had lost his family. No one seemed to understand him anymore. Perhaps he had changed too much. His world was no longer made up of the white picket fences and flowers of Montfermeil… Charla was right. She was always right. He had grown too big for this town. He didn't belong here. They should never have come.

 

-

Enjolras was currently being fucked into a cheap motel bed. This was his third night in a row with the same man, and Enjolras was in too much pleasure to feel any embarrassment about it.

 

“Oh I love to hear the way you whine and beg for me,” the older man said, his hands gripped tightly on Enjolras' hips. “Say my name.”

 

Enjolras screamed as the man pounded into him. 

 

“Say. It.”

 

“Felix,” Enjolras moaned breathlessly.

 

The older man chuckled. “Good boy, Enjolras. God, I knew you would be a good fuck as soon as you served me that first drink.”

 

Enjolras shivered, a long whine drawn out from his lips.

 

“You're such a good boy, babe. You feel so tight around my cock, just sucking it greedily into your hole. My good little cockslut,” teased Felix.

 

Enjolras came suddenly, Felix's words bringing him over the edge. The older man continued to rut into him, cumming a few moments later. Easily Felix pulled out of him, tossing the used condom in the direction of the trashcan. 

 

“How did I get so lucky to share a bed with you three nights in a row,” Felix flirted as he cleaned off Enjolras' chest with a rag.

 

“You mean you aren't sick of me?” Enjolras said biting his lip, looking at the man through his lashes.

 

Felix groaned. “When you look at me like that, I could devour you whole.”

 

“Does that mean you're up for round two?”

 

Felix smirked, crawling on top of Enjolras. Passionately he began to suck at the blond's neck, using his teeth to make sure it bruised. Enjolras was breathless; writhing against Felix he ran his hands through the man's salt and peppered hair. He had known flirting with this man would lead to good things, especially when Felix had tipped him a hundred dollars for his drink. Not to mention the older man waited around for Enjolras' shift to be over, flirting only with him. Enjolras' toes curled as Felix licked his way down Enjolras' neck and chest, biting at his nipples. His back arched when Felix started to finger him, using his own cum as lube. Felix made forgetting easy. Felix numbed the pain. Enjolras' world was in this motel room, with a man who was old enough to be his father. Felix's eyes were hungry, darkened with lust. He couldn't wait to take this boy apart, inch by inch, Enjolras' body would be his. 

 

Although it took Felix longer to get hard, he didn't mind. It just meant he could tease his little slut for longer. And oh, was Enjolras ever a slut. Felix had gotten good at recognizing which boys were willing to put out, and for what. He knew what lonely, miserable, weak boys looked like...and when he had walked into the Corinth, he had known instantly that Enjolras would be his for the taking. It was almost too easy getting this boy to fall into his bed, but it was clear that Enjolras wasn't in love… not with him. Felix was always up for a good challenge. Sure, he would only be in Montfermeil for a couple weeks, maybe a month or two, but that would certainly be long enough to have Enjolras willing to sin for him. Hell, the way the blond's lips wrapped round his cock was certainly enough for Satan to come calling. Felix chuckled as he pulled Enjolras deeper and deeper.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To everyone who wrote a comment last chapter: thank you! I was unable to reply to them, but know that I read each one and appreciate the support.  
> This past week has been insane from final exams, to graduation!!! I am done high school forever!!!!! I hope to update next weekend but am not sure if I will be able to due to the fact that I am not as far as I had hoped to be with the next chapter.  
> Until then, any guesses for who Enj's lover is, and what he is doing in town? Or perhaps what Charla's next move will be? Leave your predictions below. xoxo ~T.W.o.W.


	11. Chapter 11

Enjolras left the motel early in the morning; early enough that he did not see Charla and Grantaire checking in. Blissfully unaware he made his way back to his shared home feeling sore and content. A little smile quirked on his lips, and for the first time in a long time he felt something resembling happiness. After catching a few more hours of sleep, he made his way to Feuilly's where he had his first shift of the morning.

 

“Well don't you look cheery,” Feuilly said with a smile.

 

Enjolras ducked his head.

 

Before anything else could be said, the bell rang signaling the entrance of their delivery boy. What a bicycle-tourist shop/garden shop/ gift shop had to deliver was a bit unclear, but when Gavroche Thenardier had come searching for a job Feuilly couldn't turn the boy away. He gave the young man lots of odd tasks that had him running errands all over town. And once school was out, he would probably start helping out more in the shop. It was good honest work, which wasn't something that could be said for the majority of the Thenardier family.

 

“Good morning, and how are you today?” Feuilly asked Gavroche as the teen approached them.

 

Gavroche smirked, and then too casually he began,“alright, but my sister seemed hella pissed this morning.”

 

“What did I say about that kind of language in my shop,” Feuilly said raising an eyebrow.

 

Gavroche rolled his eyes. “Right, sorry dad.”

 

Feuilly chuckled. “Why's Miss Eponine upset this time?”

 

“Cause R and Charla moved out.” Then in a conspiratorial whisper, “to the B&B.”

 

“I thought Grantaire was staying with his parents,” Enjolras said with a frown.

 

“Oh he was,” Gav said clearly enjoying the drama of it all, “but Helene and Charla had some big argument. They ended up at our place, until Eponine suggested that Charla shorten her guest list. Then Charla got hella pis… angry. I guess they moved out this morning cause when I woke up, all their shi- stuff was gone. 'Ponine seems really annoyed at Charla.”

 

Feuilly frowned. “Don't you have school today?”

 

Gav rolled his eyes again, Enjolras guessed that it was a habit he had picked up from Eponine. “Duh. I just wanted to check if anything needed to be done before I go.”

 

Feuilly smirked. He knew that Gavroche had only stopped in to gossip. “We don't need anything Gav. Better hurry, or you'll be late to class.”

 

“Ugh, yes dad.” Gavroche groaned.

 

“Don't forget that I'll be stopping by tonight to tutor you,” Feuilly reminded gently.

 

Gavroche rolled his eyes, again, but he was smiling. “Whatever.”

 

“Stop by after school, I'm sure I'll find some jobs for you,” Feuilly added.

 

His smile grew into a grin. “Thanks Feuilly. Bye Enj! See you guys later.”

 

Gavroche sprinted out the door. After all he was going to be late.

 

Enjolras couldn't help but laugh at the youngest Thenardier. “That boy loves being in the middle of everything.”

 

“Can you blame him?” Feuilly was smiling fondly. “He was pushed to the fringes of his family by his parents. I bet the only way he got their attention was through outlandish stories. He probably didn't even know what a parent was til Eponine took him away from them.”

 

Enjolras nodded thoughtfully. He remembered only last year when Eponine had left her parents, taking Gav with her. There had been quite a commotion about town, but everyone figured it was for the best. “They're lucky to have gotten the mill house.”

 

Feuilly nodded. “Yes that was fortuitous I agree. I'm just sorry that R had to leave. I know how fond Gav is of him.”

 

Enjolras grew somber. “That fiancee of his is certainly something.”

 

Feuilly looked at Enjolras curiously. Slowly he said, “Perhaps we should get back to work.”

 

Enjolras nodded, eager for a distraction. The two men threw themselves into taking inventory and cleaning up the shelves. It was early, and no one was in on a Wednesday morning, so they had no qualms about opening a little late. It was good work, however it did not demand much of Enjolras' attention and so his thoughts were free to wander. He couldn't help but wonder what Charla had done to upset Helene. As far as he knew, Grantaire's mother was a pretty easy going woman. He didn't have to wonder for long, because soon enough the older woman came into Feuilly's shop. She hadn't seen him yet, so he simply listened as she chatted with Feuilly.

 

“'Morning, Helene. I wasn't expecting you back so soon,” Feuilly greeted the woman kindly.

 

Helene smiled thinly. “Yes, well my flowers were trampled so I've come for replacements.”

 

“Trampled?” Feuilly sounded concerned.

 

“Mmm,” Helene nodded. “It was my _charming_ new daughter-in-law. We've had a bit of a disagreement.”

 

“So I heard,” Feuilly confessed.

 

“Does everyone know?” Helene despaired.

 

“Hardly. It was only Gav Thenardier. He stopped in to tell us that R and his fiancee have moved to the B&B.” Feuilly said, helping Helene pick up her selection of potted daisies.

 

“That woman,” sighed Helene. “I was so excited when he announced that he was bringing his fiancee home… of course then I didn't know what a bitch she was.”

 

Enjolras was shocked. He had never heard R's mother talk this way.

 

“Did you know she made fun of Grantaire for attempting suicide? I cannot believe the insensitivity,” Helene's eyes were filled with angry tears. Feuilly looked sick.

 

“Grantaire tried to kill himself?” Enjolras voice was thick, his throat tightening.

 

Helene whipped around to see Enjolras standing behind the checkout counter. Her eyes widened. “Oh, Enj. He didn't tell you?”

 

“Did he tell you?”

 

Helene dropped her eyes. “No. It was a horrible way to find out. Her screaming at him like that… I thought he might have told you. I know you two have been hanging out a little bit now that he's-”

 

“We don't talk.” Enjolras felt shame flood through his body. He had always been unwilling to engage R in meaningful conversation. They had shared awkward pleasantries and even awkwarder glances. That was it. It was all Enjolras would allow. Getting to know Grantaire now was too much of a painful option. He regretted not talking more with Grantaire. What other secrets did he have?

 

“Oh, I thought you must… you see R was saying it has been good seeing you again… getting to reconnect? I though you must have talked. That you might have told him the truth?” Helene said, hinting at the past.

 

Remorse and guilt mixed with his shame, making his fingers tingle. “There would be no good in telling him about that. Not now. It's too late, Helene.”

 

“Don't let him enter a loveless marriage. I'm afraid he will no longer listen to Augustin or me,” Helene sounded desperate.

 

“Why would he listen to me?” Enjolras asked.

 

“He loves you.”

 

“Loved,” Enjolras corrected.

 

Helene peered at him, frowning. “He could again.”

 

“No. I don't think he could. Will that be all? $14.50.”

 

Helene looked disappointed, but she picked up her potted flowers and left. Feuilly was left watching with concern. Recently Enjolras had been a little off at the meetings. Perhaps this was why.

 

Enjolras finished his shift working diligently, but silently. He barely made eye contact with Feuilly as he was determined to not talk about all the things Helene had brought up. He was frightened that Grantaire had tried to kill himself, and ashamed that he hadn't been there for his friend. He was also afraid of what Grantaire might say to him, if he confessed his secret. What the other would think if he revealed that he was still in love with his high school sweetheart. God, how pathetic was he? He had promised himself he wouldn't be one of those guys trapped in their hometown with no future, reliving the past. What a joke that was. He had to see Felix again. Tonight.

-

Just like clockwork, when Enjolras arrived at his shift at the Musain, he found Grantaire already waiting for him. The man was always there, no matter how clear Enjolras was.

 

“Enjolras, we need to talk,” Grantaire started.

 

“No. We don't,” lied Enjolras, pushing his way past the brunet.

 

“Please. It's important.”

 

“I'm at work, R. I can't just stop because you're here. Besides, shouldn't you be with your fiancee?” Enjolras sneered.

 

Grantaire stepped away, a hurt look on his face. “Don't talk about Charla like that.”

 

“Like what?”

 

“Like everyone else is. I thought you were better than that, Enjolras.”

 

Enjolras looked at his shoes. He took a deep breath in through his nose, blowing it out through pursed lips. “I am sorry.” He meant it.

 

R shoulders drooped, his defenses falling. “She's in New York again with Ep. They're looking at bridesmaid dresses, I think.”

 

“Sounds like torture,” Enjolras joked lightly.

 

Grantaire smiled, they were back in familiar territory. “I know. Thank god they didn't ask me to come with. I know I'm supposed to be an artist, but I can't tell the difference between canary yellow and buttercup yellow to save my life.”

 

The two men let out relieved laughs; the tension momentarily dissipated.

 

“Look, I really do have to work.” Enjolras confessed. “But… I think we need to talk.”

 

Grantaire nodded. “Tonight?”

 

“I've got plans.” Enjolras hastily said.

 

Grantaire nodded. “I understand. Going to see your mother?”

 

“No. I'm actually visiting a friend,” Enjolras said carefully.

 

“I see. Well your mother misses you, she says it's been awhile?” Grantaire asked.

 

“How do you know that?”

 

“I've been trying to visit her more often. We chat about life and death, things like that. She told me you haven't visited in awhile. I think she's afraid that you're mad at her for something,” R said softly.

 

Enjolras' anger rolled away as swiftly as it had come. “I have been ignoring her, you're right… It just hurts to be there.”

 

“It'll hurt more knowing you weren't there when she needed you.”

 

Grantaire's reply was so soft that Enjolras had almost missed it. He stared at the artist wondering what had happened to the boy he had loved so dearly, to make him so wise.

 

“Thank you, R. I'll go see her as soon as I can.”

 

Grantaire gave a sad smile. “I'll have a coffee. Black.”

 

Enjolras nodded, before leaving for the kitchens. Although Enj was at work, he made more of an effort to stop by R's booth and chat with him. Today the artist had brought a sketchbook and colored pens. He was staring at his sketches with a look of annoyance.

 

“Trouble?” Enjolras asked on his fourth time passing the booth.

 

“I've got this huge showcase coming up, but none of these seem right.” R gestured to the sketches he had torn out of the book. The pages were covered in broad strokes of harsh colors, contrasting so much from the sketches he had shown Jeanne. They were modern, and foreign. Enjolras couldn't put his finger on what it was about them that made him twinge.

 

Enjolras frowned. “I don't know if you want advice-”

 

“I'll take anything,” Grantaire said, perhaps a bit too desperately.

 

“They just don't seem like you, R. I don't know. Maybe New York changed you… but this just doesn't seem like your style. Whenever you're here sketching you're always drawing people, or things. I just don't see you in this abstract style.” Enjolras said slowly.

 

Grantaire smiled. “You're right. My heart has never really been into this approach. Charla just said I should try it, and they've been selling.”

 

Enjolras' brow furrowed at the name of R's fiancee, however he didn't let the other see his moment of discomfort. “I know I'm not an artist, but shouldn't art be about self expression rather than selling out?”

 

Grantaire's eyes shone brightly as he appraised Enjolras as if seeing him for the first time.

 

“I've said too much,” Enjolras began to hastily backpedal.

 

“No. I think I needed to hear that.” Grantaire said quietly. “I should go. I've got three large canvases that aren't going to paint themselves.”

 

“Don't listen to my advice. I really don't know anything about art,” Enjolras said sheepishly.

 

Grantaire shook his head. “No, I think you know plenty.”

 

For the first time in ages, they parted on good terms. Grantaire hurried back to his parents' where the three canvases were being stored along with his paints. Charla had insisted he work on his art while they were here as he wouldn't have time during their honeymoon. He was glad that she had convinced him to bring the triptych. It was to be the centerpiece of his showcase, and for the longest time he had stressed about how he was going to fill the massive canvases. For the first time in ages, he had his creative spark back.

 

“R? What are you doing here?” Helene asked with pleasant surprise. The woman was currently transplanting her new flowers into the garden.

 

“Do you mind if I do some painting here? There's no way I'd be able to do so at the Thenardier's,” R asked.

 

Helene grinned. “Of course not. Your things are still in the garden house.”

 

“Thanks maman,” Grantaire kissed his mother on the cheek as he rushed past her.

 

Helene smiled. Something was changing.

-

In the garden house sat five large canvases. Three of which were 12x36 and two which were 24x36. For so long the white stretched canvas had intimidated him, but now he knew what he needed to do. He pulled out his phone and began dialing. Before his eyes he could envision the canvases coming to life.

 

“Hello?” a woman's voice answered on the first ring.

 

“M?”

 

“R?! It's been ages! How is the wedding planning going?”

 

“I actually wanted to talk to you about something else,” Grantaire started. “Do you think you and the boys could come a week earlier. I understand-”

 

“Of course! We'd love to come as soon as possible,” the woman's voice was vibrant with excitement. “What's up?”

 

“How would you feel being a model for one of my paintings?” Silence on the other side of the line. “Musichetta? Are you still there?”

 

“Are you fucking kidding me?!” squealed the woman.

 

R laughed. “Hell no. I would never joke about my art.”

 

“I thought you weren't doing portraits anymore,” Musichetta said.

 

“I've had a change of heart. I want to go back to doing some Romanticism and Neoclassical stuff. So will you do it?” R asked anxiously.

 

Musichetta beamed. “I'd love to.”

 

“I've got to make some rough sketches when you come, and I know things will be crazy with the wedding-”

 

“Relax, R. I already said I would do it, didn't I?” Musichetta's laugh rung through the phone. “Ooh this will be so fun. I can't wait to meet your childhood friends! And your sister! I've heard so much about her.”

 

Grantaire's smile mirrored her, even though they were miles apart. He hadn't realized how much he had missed his New York friends. “Can't wait til you get here.”

 

“Muah~” Musichetta made a kissing noise. “I'll have to talk to you later. Joly just got back. I'll let you know when we're coming.”

 

“See you soon,” Grantaire said fondly, and then the line was dead.

 

He then called Eponine, hoping she would pick up.

 

“Now's not a great time R,” she sounded annoyed.

 

“Look I know you're looking at dresses,” began R trying to mollify her.

 

“Not looking at, trying them on. And Christ they are hideous.” Eponine frowned. “Who thinks yellow dresses are attractive? And this ruffle, with those sleeves?! God. Even I could design better.”

 

R cringed. “I've got an important request. Is Charla around?”

 

“No.”

 

“Good. I was wondering if you would pose for one of my paintings,” R began his request. “It would mean a lot to have you as one of my models.”

 

Eponine's face broke out into a smile. “A real painting, not some Pollock wannabe shit that Charla has had you do?”

 

R rolled his eyes. “A real painting. I'm thinking Romanticism, possibly Neoclassic?”

 

“I'm in.”

 

“But you can't tell Charla,” R warned. He wasn't sure what his fiancee was going to think, from the change in style to the choices of models… But this was the first spark he had had in ages! He didn't want it to be destroyed before it had begun.

 

“I like this even more. We'll need to discuss this when we get back. Jesus, R, this dress doesn't look flattering on anyone.” Eponine whined.

 

Grantaire chuckled. “I am sure you are all beautiful.”

 

Eponine's face wrinkled in disgust. “Wait til you meet these women. Ugh, they're calling me out to show them, Christ. Got to go.”

 

Grantaire smiled. Today was going well. He made his final call.

 

“R?”

 

“Hey Bi, I've got a request for you,” Grantaire started.

 

“Sure. Hold on let me go into another room.” Pause. Then, “What's up?”

 

“I was wondering if it was at all possible for you to get an earlier flight? I want to use you as a model for one of my paintings, and would love to sketch you as soon as possible.”

 

“Funny you should say that,” Bianca laughed. “Floreal and I have booked a flight about a week earlier. We're flying home in a week or so.”

 

Grantaire's smile split his face. “I can't wait to see you, Bianca. So will you do it? Pose for my painting?”

 

“Of course. How could I say no to my big brother?” Bianca replied.

 

“And I can't wait to meet your girlfriend,” Grantaire tacked on.

 

“Ugh, are you going to be this embarrassing when we come?” Bianca moaned.

 

“Of course that's my job.” Grantaire huffed.

 

“No, that's dad's job. You're supposed to be on my side.” Bianca countered.

 

“Well maybe I'll side with papa on this one.”

 

“Fine, but I'm telling all your fancy New York friends about the time you skateboarded into a fence because a cute boy was around.” Bianca was of course referring to the time Grantaire had first seen Enjolras.

 

“Then I'm telling your fancy French girlfriend about all the times we played pretend and you insisted on being the prince,” Grantaire said raising a brow.

 

“That is an endearing story, brother mine, and more embarrassing for you since you were the princess.” Bianca replied flippantly.

 

Grantaire smiled. He could never say anything against his sister. “Touche.”

 

“Look I gotta go, Floreal's almost done with dinner. I'll see you in two weeks!” Bianca said hanging up the phone.

 

Grantaire had a grin on his face. He wandered away from the garden house back to his parents. Augustin was sitting outside by his wife reading a book. Helene was still by her garden, only now she was weeding.

 

“Maman?”

 

“Hm?” she said without looking up.

 

“Could you pose for one of my paintings?”

 

Helene stared at her son. “Me?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“I am too old,” she scoffed.

 

“Please?” Grantaire begged.

 

“No. I am not pretty enough. Get one of your model friends in New York to do it.”

 

“You are beautiful, maman. I want you to do it.”

 

“You should do it, Helene.” Augustin added softly.

 

They both turned to look at him to find he had put his book down. “I-I can't. No one would want to buy a painting of an old woman.”

 

“You're not old, maman.” R rolled his eyes. “And art isn't about who will buy it. It's self expression.”

 

Augustin gave his son a slow nod, before turning to his wife. “He is right you know.”

 

Helene smiled. “I know. He is such a clever boy. Very well, Grantaire I will do it.”

 

“Thank you, maman!” Grantaire gave her a kiss on the cheek. “By any chance do you know the number for the hospital?”

 

Helene gave her son a strange look before telling him where to find it in the directory.

 

-

 

Jeanne was currently reading an old book Enjolras had brought to her months ago. She hadn't wanted to read it for the longest time, but she had accepted that perhaps she should at least start it. She had only made it into the first chapter when the phone by her bed rang.

 

“Hello?” she answered uncertainly.

 

“There is a Grantaire wanting to speak with you on the phone. Are you up for the call?” the orderly spoke clearly into the phone.

 

Jeanne eagerly agreed. The young man was transferred. “Hello, Grantaire.”

 

“Hi Jeanne. I have an odd request for you.”

 

“What is it?”

 

“I was wondering if you would pose for a painting for my winter showcase.” Grantaire started.

 

“No.”

 

“Look I could come by and do the sketches, and even paint it there-”

 

“I said no.” Jeanne replied softly.

 

“May I ask why not?” R asked.

 

“I am sick, Grantaire. Art is meant to be beautiful. No one wants to see a painting of a dying woman.” Jeanne replied matter-of-factly. Grantaire was beginning to see where Enjolras had picked up his pragmatism.

 

“Art doesn't have to be beautiful, have you even seen some of Bosch's stuff? Plus there's plenty of paintings depicting death. For example all those Renaissance paintings of Jesus? Besides, Jeanne, you are beautiful. And I know you're sick, but it would mean a lot to me if you would.” Grantaire stated.

 

Jeanne frowned. “For this painting… would you be painting me as an invalid?”

 

“No.” Grantaire replied strongly. “I want to portray strong women, and you're one of the strongest I know.”

 

“Will you paint my hair? How it would look if I hadn't lost it all?” Jeanne request was meek, as if she was expecting a rebuke.

 

Grantaire's heart broke. “If that is what you wish.”

 

“Truly?”

 

“If that is what would make you comfortable, Jeanne, I will do it. I want you in the most honest, truthful light. You as you. I don't care if that means I need to add a third eye or fifth appendage, I'll do it.” joked Grantaire.

 

Jeanne laughed her light airy laugh that he had begun to adore. “Very well, Grantaire. I will pose for you. But I'm afraid you will have to come here.”

 

Grantaire beamed. “Not a problem. Thank you, Jeanne.”

 

“Does Enjolras know?”

 

“No.”

 

“Do you want it kept a secret?”

 

“For now, yes.”

 

“Very well, since you have been so accommodating to my wishes, I will accommodate to yours. And R?”

 

“Hm?”

 

“Thank you for coming to visit me. It's been nice to have a friendly face here,” Jeanne confessed.

 

“Of course. I'll be by as soon as I can.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Artists/Time periods referenced:  
> Jackson Pollock- (1912-56) major figure in the abstract, expressionist movement. Known for unique drip style paintings  
> Hieronymus Bosch- (1450's-1516) known for fantastic imagery, detailed landscapes and illustrations of religious concepts/narratives. Also not the most aesthetically pleasing artist (don't get me wrong, I still love his works.)  
> -  
> Neoclassical- (c. 1750-1830) inspiration drawn from the "classics" (Greece and Rome). Famous painters: Anton Raphael Mengs, Jaques-Louis David, Angelica Kauffmann, and Jean-Auguste-Dominique Ingres  
> Romanticism- (c. 1800-1850) characterized by its emphasis on emotion and individualism as well as glorification of all the past and nature, preferring the medieval rather than the classical. Famous painters: Theodore Gericault, Eugene Delacroix, and Francisco Goya  
> -  
> Thanks for all the kudos! Your support means so much to me. I hope you leave a comment though. Those make my day!! I've provided a bit of background for the art and styles which R refers to in case you would like to research them more. I have finally completed my outline for this story and within the next two or so chapters thing should begin to pick up and get more dramatic! Update next weekend, see y'all then :) ~T.W.o.W.  
> (PS still taking predictions on why Felix is here and what Charla's insidious plans may contain. Let me know your guesses below. xoxo)


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: daddy kink, verbal/emotional abuse, minor drug use mentioned, and questionable consent

Grantaire made his way back to the B&B. He had made rough sketches in his sketchbook, but they only hinted to what the full painting was going to be. Once he was there, he refined them as much as he could without his models. He kept working late into the night. And by eleven, Charla returned. As she entered Grantaire hastily shoved his drawings into his book, shoving it into a drawer. He wasn't quite ready for her criticisms.

 

“Hey babe. How was your day?” She too was in a good mood. Her shopping had been successful; the dresses were perfect.

 

“Fine. I've done some work for the showcase.” He confessed rubbing his eyes tiredly.

 

Charla beamed. “That's wonderful R! I can't wait to see them when they are done!”

 

“And you? How was the shopping?”

 

Charla looked thoughtful. “Alright. With my bridesmaids' coloring, yellow really was a poor choice...it only looks good on Eponine. But it is too late now, the dresses had to match our color scheme. And yellow really is the perfect color for a summer-country wedding.”

 

Grantaire could picture a yellow dress against Eponine's dark skin, and smiled. “I'm glad she'll look nice.”

 

Charla rolled her eyes. “They'll all look nice. They just won't be a stunning as I am in my dress.”

 

“That was never a concern of mine,” R said pulling her to him.

 

Charla smiled. She carded her pale hands through his hair, her perfume enveloping them. This was the woman he had fallen for. This soft, loving, supportive woman who always stood by him. Sure they had had their rough patches recently, but moments like this were why he could never leave her. She was a balm that surrounded him and comforted him

 

“I am willing to shorten my guest list. I realize that it may be a bit excessive,” confessed Charla softly.

 

Grantaire smiled. “Really?”

 

She nodded. “I want to. Our wedding is going to be perfect.”

 

“I know.”

 

“One other thing?” she asked batting her eyelashes.

 

“What?”

 

“When the guests begin to arrive, just be careful around Eponine and my bridesmaids. I would hate for anyone to think that you're cheating on me with them.” Charla said slowly.

 

“What do you mean by careful?”

 

“Don't flirt with them, or go anywhere alone with them. Just stay away. I don't want your reputation to be ruined. Think you can do that?”

 

Grantaire frowned. She was just being cautious, that was all. “Yes.”

 

Charla pulled him closer. “Soon it'll be just you and me. Nothing can come between us.”

 

That night they made love slowly. Grantaire had always been fond of lingering touches, and soft slow kisses. He loved watching Charla come undone under his caresses. The sound of a soft sigh here, and a muted moan there drove Grantaire wild. Once they had both finished, they cuddled. That night, Grantaire fell asleep easily. Charla, however, was wide awake.

 

Her brain couldn't seem to shut off. There was so much they still needed to do for the wedding, and time was running out. She pushed Grantaire off of her as she rose to grab a beer from their mini fridge. She went out to the landing that looked down over the parking lot. The cool evening breeze stirred against her skin. Her good mood had quickly worn away when R had made it clear they would be taking it slow tonight. God, she hated it. The painfully slow touches, the prolonged eye contact… it was disgusting. She had even faked an orgasm to make it end faster. She let out a snort.

 

“Trouble in paradise?”

 

She turned to find an older man leaning against the railing beside her. “Who the hell are you?”

 

“Felix Tholomyes, at your service,” the man replied. “I came up here to grab some ice. The machine on the first floor is broken.”

 

“Better go grab it then.” Charla replied curtly.

 

“I think I'll take a smoke. Care for one?” He asked pulling out a cigarette.

 

“That has never been my vice.” Charla said sipping her beer. “You should know I've got a fiance in my room.”

 

Felix laughed. “And you should know I've got a desperate blond boy in mine.”

 

Charla's lip curled. “He sounds... charming.”

 

“Oh he can be. But to be honest he can be a perfectly spoiled brat. I am trying to correct that behavior out of him.” Felix smiled languidly. “And your fiance? What is he like?”

 

“Pathetic,” Charla answered turning to look at the older man. “He's a spineless coward.”

 

“Sounds like a loveless engagement. What's he got over you?” Felix squinted, taking in Charla's appearance. “You could certainly do better.”

 

“He's going to be a famous artist. And I'm going to be his muse and partner.” Charla replied throwing her head so her hair moved enchantingly in the moonlight.

 

Felix chuckled darkly. “So you're a gold digger.”

 

Charla's eyes widened in protest.

 

“Nothing wrong with that sweetheart, I've known plenty of those in my day,” amended Felix.

 

“I'm not a gold digger. I am making a career, his and mine. We'll be famous because of me.” Charla declared.

 

Felix nodded thoughtfully. “You really should go into politics. You'd make a great campaign manager.”

 

Charla smiled at him batting her eyelashes. “Why Mr. Tholomyes that may be the nicest thing I've heard all day.”

 

Felix handed her a business card. “If you're ever in DC, contact me. I'll be up for reelection later this year and would love to have you on my staff.”

 

Charla blushed. “Thank you, but no thank you. I've got my hands full with my fiance.”

 

“Take it anyway,” he pushed it on her. “Never know what a friend in high places can do.”

 

Charla took the card gratefully. “I better get back.”

 

“Same. I've got a horny blond in my bed and would hate to disappoint him.” Laughed Felix. Then he mused mostly to himself, “I suppose I spoil him, but perhaps that shall be corrected after tonight.”

 

Charla smiled as the man made his way to the ice machine, before passing her to the lower level. Her smile disappeared once he was gone. Felix Tholomyes. The name sounded familiar…

-

Felix returned with the ice to find Enjolras where he had left him. After a passionate round of fucking the boy had fallen asleep, clearly exhausted. Felix could tell that Enjolras' life was beginning to take a strain on his looks. There were dark circles under his eyes, and his skin was becoming ashen. Forgetting the ice, Felix moved over to the bed, pulling the blankets off the sleeping blond. The boy shivered in his sleep. The older man took in the sharp planes of the thin body beneath him. The golden curls splayed out on the pillow creating a halo effect around a sickly creature. Enjolras was beginning to get used to Felix always catering to his desires, it was time for him to do something that would have the blond reeling. Only then, when he was spinning out of control, could Felix gain complete and utter control.

 

“Get up,” Felix said gruffly dropping ice on the sleeping form.

 

Enjolras jolted awake. “Feli-”

 

“Get out.”

 

“Did I do something wrong?” Enjolras slurred, sleep still clouding his thought process.

 

“Out.” Felix said roughly grabbing Enjolras' arm.

 

Enjolras just had time to put on his boxers before Felix shoved him out of the room. “Felix-?”

 

“I'll call you when I need a good fuck.” Felix said before closing the door.

 

Enjolras couldn't help but shiver as the night air surrounded him. He got dressed and began the long walk home utterly confused.

-

The next evening at the Corinth, Enjolras watched Felix stalk in like he owned the place. The blond began to make his way from where he was standing only to stop suddenly. Felix had approached one of the other dancers, Matt, and had asked him to join him at his table. Enjolras' stomach fluttered uneasily. Matt had always intimidated him with his pierced tongue and bad boy aesthetic. Not to mention he was a crowd favorite with his tramp stamp always on display above his black booty shorts. He was willing to do anything for money, breaking all the rules of the Corinth in the process.

 

Enjolras watched for about an hour. He saw them kiss, and Matt reach for Felix's cock. He watched Felix pull out a bag of white powder, watched Matt do lines of coke. There was more kissing, and ordering drinks. At one point Matt had straddled Felix's lap and was was sucking desperately at his neck. Enjolras couldn't take it any longer. He stormed over to their booth.

 

“Can I help you?” Felix asked his eyes lingering on Matt's silhouette.

 

Enjolras opened his mouth before snapping it shut. For the first time in his life he didn't know what to say.

 

“You don't have a monopoly on my affections, Enjolras.” Felix said his fingers tracing Matt's jaw, pulling the other into a kiss. The younger man moaned filthily, Felix swallowing those sounds hungrily. They pulled apart; Matt's eyes were dark with lust or possibly because he was high. Felix turned back to Enjolras. “You've become boring, Enjolras. Maybe I want someone a little more adventurous and rebellious.”

 

Enjolras clenched his fists.

 

“Oh don't frown. We can still be together, if that's what you want.” Felix said slowly.

 

Enjolras swallowed and then nodded.

 

Felix tilted his head, looking back to Matt. “Find me when you're willing to be a bit more daring. Hell we could even start tonight if you're up for it.”

 

“What do you want me to do?”

 

“Blow Mattie. Right here, right now.” Felix said running his hands through Matt's dark hair. “You'd like that, wouldn't you Mattie?”

 

“Anything for you, daddy.”

 

Enjolras thought he might vomit.

 

“Well? What do you say, Enj?” Felix asked.

 

Desperate for the attention and affection of the older man, Enjolras fell to his knees in front of Matt. He pulled the other man's short dick from his tight booty shorts, and began to suck. Not only was Matt's ear and tongue pierced, but it soon became evident to Enjolras that his dick was pierced too.

 

Felix grinned. “Good boy.”

 

One hand was curled around Matt's neck as the two kissed, the other tangled in Enjolras' hair to ensure that he couldn't leave. Matt moaned as he thrust into Enjolras' mouth, choking the blond. He came with a gasp, and Enjolras was forced to swallow due to the hand holding him there. Finally he was able to pull away, but he was breathing heavily. Felix helped him up to Matt he said with disgust, “go clean yourself up. Don't bother coming back.”

 

Dazed, Matt left to go find a new customer. Felix began to straighten out Enjolras' hair, wiping his mouth with a napkin. “You're a good boy, Enjolras. I'm glad you did that.”

 

“Do you really like Matt's piercings and tattoos?” asked Enjolras quietly.

 

“Yes.”

 

“And are you tired of me?” Enjolras asked.

 

Felix grinned. “Oh, babe… I didn't mean any of that. I just wanted to push you, see what you would do when you were desperate.”

 

“You mean it was all a test?”

 

“Sort of.”

 

“I-”

 

“Baby, I didn't want to hurt you...but I wasn't lying when I said I wanted someone a little more adventurous. If you want to continue seeing me, I'll be expecting you to be a bit more daring. Is that ok?”

 

Enjolras nodded.

 

Suddenly Felix's lips met his. The kiss was aggressive and passionate. Felix pulled Enjolras' hand and placed it on his hardening bulge. With only a bit of prompting, Enjolras began to massage the area, pulling moans from Felix's lips.

 

They pulled apart. Felix placed his hand around Enjolras' neck cradling his face. “Remember what I said.”

 

Felix got up leaving the blond sitting alone at the table. Enjolras was more confused than ever, but he knew that he was willing to do whatever it took to keep Felix's attentions. It was all he had.

 

-

 

After his shift was over Enjolras went to the back where the locker rooms were. He had gone to wash off the eyeliner and to grab his things. Already there, however, was Matt.

 

“Hey man,” Matt said. “Can't believe you gave me a blowjob at work. You're crazy.”

 

“I guess.” Enjolras said not looking at the brunet.

 

“Look that guy is insane. You're pretty lucky that he chose you.” Matt sounded envious.

 

Enjolras looked at Matt carefully. “Yes, I know that too.”

 

“Do whatever it takes to stay by his side. He's got money, he can get you out of this hell hole.” Matt said, his pupils were still blown from the coke. “And I'm sure he's a good fuck too. Kinky bastard.”

 

Enjolras could only nod.

 

“When he leaves, and you know he will, come find me. You're a pretty good fuck too.” Matt laughed, tripping as he walked away.

 

Enjolras shivered. He could never imagine being with Matt. But the man was right. Felix was going to leave someday, and Enjolras wasn't sure what he was going to do when he was gone.

-

 

Dejectedly Enjolras walked home. He hadn't thought to bring his bike tonight, and now he was regretting that decision. He heart ached and he wanted nothing more than to curl up in his mother's arms like he had when he was a child. She had always been there, even when his father left them, she had been a strong presence forever comforting him. And now she was dying. Enjolras hadn't visited her in days, hoping that by not seeing her constantly it would be easier when she passed. But then R's words came back to him in a rush. God, Enjolras hated how Grantaire was always right. Even though he was out under the night sky Enjolras felt like he was suffocating, like the universe had decided to collapse in on itself at the point right where he was standing. He felt like his ribs were tightening up making breathing impossible. He started to run blindly, he didn't know where he was going. All he knew was he needed to escape.

 

He pounded on the door, not caring if he woke the whole neighborhood. He had to get in, he needed to be on the other side of the door.

 

The door opened slowly. “Enjolras?”

 

“I,” between pants and sobs Enjolras tried to speak, “I ne-need you. I need you.”

 

Strong arms enveloped him. “There's my good boy, come here. Daddy's got you.”

 

Felix drew Enjolras into his motel room, shutting the door firmly behind them.

 

“I'm sorry,” cried Enjolras into his shoulder. “I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.”

 

“Hush. I'm going to run you a hot bath. Come with me.” Felix said leading Enjolras to the bedroom. “Tell me why you're sorry.”

 

“I know you want someone exciting, and here I am cr-crying,” sniffled Enjolras.

 

Felix bit back his grin. “I'm glad you came to me though.”

 

“Really?” Enjolras looked up at the older man, tears making his blue eyes shine.

 

“Yes.” Felix couldn't describe how perfectly delighted he was to have Enjolras at his door sobbing. His plan was going better than planned. With tears in his eyes, and his bottom lip jutted out like that, Enjolras made the perfect picture of a little boy who had fallen down. And if that didn't turn Felix on, nothing could. He helped the blond into the bathtub, which had begun to fill with hot water. “Now tell me what's wrong?”

 

Enjolras sighed. “Everything. My ex is getting married and I'm not entirely over him. And it hurts so much, my friends don't know how to console me...and usually I'd go to my mother but she is dying...I didn't plan for my life to be like this. I'm not ready to lose her. This isn't what I wanted. I only feel good when I'm here with you, Felix. And what you said last night had me confused. I was hurt and desperate. I don't want to lose you. I know you're leaving town soon, but I can't lose you. After the wedding and the funeral, you're all I'm going to have. Please, take me with you? Back to where ever you came from. Please. I have to get out.”

 

Felix listened to Enjolras pour out his heart with mild shock. He hadn't expected any of this; he knew his jaw was open, but he couldn't quite bring himself to shut it. It was only then that he realized Enjolras' request. “I can't.”

 

“Why not?” asked Enjolras petulantly.

 

“I'm married.” Felix replied.

 

“Oh.” the noise slipped from Enjolras' lips softly. His eyes were downcast, he couldn't bear to look at Felix any longer.

 

“It's a loveless marriage,” confessed Felix. “But I need her for reelection.”

 

“Reelection?” Enjolras asked.

 

“I'm a senator, Enjolras.” Felix said like he was losing his patience. “She helps me by throwing parties and getting the conservative vote, I help her keep up a certain lifestyle. It's a business arrangement. You can see why I can't bring you back to that. The DC press would go crazy.”

 

“Why are you here?”

 

“I'm looking for someone.”

 

“Oh?” Enjolras asked. “I told you my troubles, tell me yours.”

 

Felix seemed to hesitate for a moment. “My daughter. I had a kid during college, and I made sure that the mother give it up for adoption. I hear she's here somewhere. I need her for the election. The press has begun sniffing around, and it's better I make the announcement than someone else. If I find her first it can be spun as a joyous reunion rather than a scandal waiting to happen.”

 

“What's her name? Maybe I know her,” Enjolras said.

 

“Euphrasie.”

 

Enjolras shook his head. “Don't think there's anyone here by that name.”

 

“You must be mistaken,” Felix said coldly. “She's here. I just have to find her.”

-

Felix helped Enjolras out of the bath and the two of them went to bed together. Drowsily Enjolras pulled Felix's arm around his waist. “Can I ask you something?”

 

“What?”

 

“When we were with Matt, he called you daddy.”

 

“Yes, and?”

 

“And when I got here you said 'daddy's got you'. Does that turn you on? Is that your kink?” Enjolras asked.

 

“I-”

 

“Would you like me to call you daddy?” As soon as the words were out of his mouth Enjolras could feel something hard poking him in the back. All drowsiness was forgotten as Enjolras ground his back and ass against Felix's erection.

 

“Oh fuck,” moaned Felix. “Fuck, Enj. You're such a smart boy. Such a fucking intuitive boy.”

 

Enjolras giggled. “Yes, daddy.”

 

Felix groaned, before shoving Enjolras down and climbing on top of him. It looked like Enj had gotten his message about being a bit more experimental. Felix was more than pleased.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the constant support, my readers are the best! Please leave a comment. It can be anything like "extra kudos" (since you can only give kudos once), or "love", or whatever you want! They make my day, and yes I am shameless when it comes to them. Just let me know what you think.  
> xoxo~ T.W.o.W.  
> Update next weekend :)


	13. Chapter 13

Friday morning and Grantaire, Charla, and Eponine found themselves across town at Flowers from the Lane, the florist shop that was doing their wedding. Grantaire had been careful not to look Eponine in the eye, or talk to her, and the woman had noticed. There was a slight furrow between her brows, and she kept looking like she had something she wanted to say. However, Charla talked enough for the three of them, monopolizing the conversation. She chatted, making sure to ask Eponine about Gavroche and asking Grantaire about his art.

 

“What are you doing?” asked Grantaire when they had had a second alone.

 

“Helping.” Charla replied. “Oh and babe?”

 

“What?”

 

“Don't say too much at the florist's. I would hate for you to embarrass us in front of him. I want everything to be perfect. Understand?”

 

Grantaire nodded, and that had been all there was to it.

 

In the shop they were greeted by Alexander Lane, the owner of the shop.

 

“Miss de La Roche! What a pleasure,” the man greeted. “I am so glad you chose my shop over the other one in town.”

 

“As if we would have our wedding done by a shop called Bicycle,” laughed Charla. Eponine looked cagey; Grantaire was just silent. “So you must be Mr. Lane. I believe I talked to your assistant on the phone.”

 

“Ah yest, that would have been Priscilla. She has started a look book for you to begin looking at so you can choose your flowers. She told me your color scheme is yellow and white?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“A lovely choice for a summer wedding,” complimented the proprietor. “Come this way. There is tea and coffee waiting for us in my office.”

 

The three of them were led to the back of the store, where there was a beautiful office with big glass windows. There was a large desk, and beside it a sideboard with food. On the walls were some abstract watercolors which vaguely resembled flowers. Across the room was a round conference table, and at a smaller desk sat a small young woman with bright red hair. Grantaire assumed that this was Priscilla.

 

“Good morning,” She greeted them, before showing them to where there were refreshments. “Compliments of the company, of course.”

 

After grabbing some drinks the five of them were seated at the large conference table in the office. Priscilla brought over a notepad and a binder, handing the second thing to her boss.

 

“This is the look book we have compiled. Within the first tab are some already made arrangements and bouquets which we think would suit your wedding. The second tab is for the chapel arrangements if you choose to have them. The third is for your reception, the fourth is for boutonnieres. If you are looking for something a bit more unique and personalized, the fifth tab shows different sorts of flowers so that you can create your own arrangements. And finally the sixth tab contains order forms.”

 

Charla nodded delighted and began to page through the book. It became clear early on that she wanted an original arrangement, so she began to concentrate her attentions on the fifth section.

 

“Dahlias are a must,” muttered Charla. Priscilla jotted it down.

 

“Accacia would be a lovely addition,” suggested Alexander Lane.

 

“Mm, alright. I was also thinking seeded eucalyptus,” Charla said pointing to their picture. Priscilla looked to her boss. Lane nodded.

 

“A beautiful selection,” he agreed. Priscilla noted it on her pad of paper.

 

“Pincushion protea, ranculus, a touch of daffodils, anemones, sweetpeas, star of Bethlehem, jasmine, leucadendron, kangaroo paws, and pieris Japonica,” announced Charla.

 

Alexander Lane looked impressed. “A woman who knows what she wants. You are a very lucky man.”

 

Grantaire blushed. “She's always known what she wants.”

 

Eponine was frowning. “And craspedia. They'd be perfect for the boutonnieres and would look beautiful in a yellow bouquet.”

 

“Ah, your maid of honor is quite a young woman,” Alexander Lane said looking at Eponine with a new gleam in his eye. “Craspedia would be a wonderful addition. Where have you heard of them?”

 

“My friend is a florist,” muttered Eponine quietly.

 

Charla smiled. “Alright, Eponine. I'll take your word for it. Now help me design my bridesmaids' bouquets.”

 

Charla, Priscilla, and Alexander Lane did most of the chatting. They agreed that the bridesmaids' bouquets should be smaller, and more white than yellow. Eponine helped by pointing out different flowers to use for the boutonniere, and what they should do for the reception table centerpieces. This left Grantaire to his own devices. It wasn't that he didn't have opinions, but Charla had been right. He knew very little about flowers. He had no clue which flowers would smell nice together, or which ones would over power which. He didn't really understand how to pick a variety of sizes and make it look appealing, or really the difference between the table arrangements and the bouquets. He wished his mother had come, she would have been brilliant at this. She would have loved it too, but it was clear that Charla did not want her. And that broke Grantaire's heart a bit.

 

Once they were through at the florists they headed off to a cake tasting.

 

“The Musain is making our cake?” Grantaire asked with surprise as he stepped out of their car.

 

Charla laughed. “Of course honey. Everyone here says they make the best baked goods, isn't that right Eponine?”

 

Eponine nodded slowly. “That's right.”

 

Charla smiled. “Besides I believe someone's mother was raving about their pound cake, were they not?”

 

“Yes. Of course, Charla.” Grantaire said tiredly. He didn't know why he even bothered.

 

Charla led the trio into the shop. On the door was a sign which said “Closed for Private Event”. They entered to find several tables pushed together with a table cloth across them to create one long table. There were three places set, with a variety of cakes.

 

“Good morning! My name is Cosette and I will be helping you today,” Cosette greeted the party cheerily.

 

Charla looked at the table and smiled. “This is a beautiful set up, Cosette. Tell me, are you the one who bakes the cakes?”

 

Cosette blushed. “Oh no. That's Marius. He's a genius when it comes to stuff like that.”

 

“And who does the decorating?”

 

“He does, but I help when I can,” Cosette replied.

 

“Well,” Charla said, “these look delicious. Shall we?”

 

The party all sat down, Cosette taking her place across from them with a notebook. “Let's start on the left, shall we? Here we have a pink champagne cake with a vanilla butter cream frosting.”

Eponine, Charla, and Grantaire all took a bite of the cake. Charla looked thoughtful as she said, “this is delicious, compliments to the chef, however I don't think we want a pink cake for our wedding.”

 

Eponine nodded. “It would be a little strange.”

 

Cosette noted this down. “Not a problem. Next we have vanilla pound cake with fondant and sugar flowers which we can customize to match your bouquet.”

 

They tasted the pound cake.

 

“It's very rich,” commented Eponine reaching for her glass of water.

 

“A bit too heavy,” Charla said.

 

Grantaire was silent.

 

“Alright. Never fear, we'll find the perfect cake!” Cosette said cheerily. “This next one is a lemon cake with lemon buttercream.”

 

They each took a bite. The cake was light and fluffy with a slight tang to it. It melted on the tongue, and tasted like summer.

 

“This is it,” Charla announced.

 

“It's perfect,” Eponine said awed.

 

“R?” asked Charla. “What do you think babe?”

 

“I love it,” Grantaire said smiling at first Charla then Cosette. “Tell Marius that he has a gift.”

 

Cosette blushed again. “I will. Okay, wow. So let's talk about what you want this cake to look like. Do you know how many guests will be attending?”

 

“We'll be having 200 guests.” Charla said. They had finalized their lists yesterday after hours of debate and cutting. Neither one was a hundred percent happy, compromises had been made, but they were satisfied with the end result.

 

Cosette whistled. “Alright then. I'm thinking you'll probably need a 5 layer cake with a diameter of 14 inches. Each circle would be two inches smaller all the way up.”

 

Charla nodded. “Do you have a diagram?”

 

Cosette nodded. “Yep, right here.”

 

The young woman passed them a laminated diagram.

 

“I like it. Very traditional.” Charla said. “But I was hoping that for the decorations we could make it a bit more...I don't know… sophisticated.”

 

“That's very doable miss,” Cosette said. She pulled out a binder. “Here are some options. They are divided by color if that helps.”

 

Charla paged through the binder and made comments to Eponine. Cosette watched Grantaire carefully. He seemed so bored, so removed from the process, that she felt bad for him. She had been a part of many consultations, and almost always the groom was as enthusiastic as the bride. She wondered what was really going on.

 

In the end, Charla and Grantaire ordered a five layer lemon cake with buttercream icing. It was going to be covered in minimalistic scrolling and a few tastefully placed flowers. As they were getting their things together, Cosette said, “Eponine, can I talk to you?”

 

Eponine nodded. “You guys can leave without me. I can walk home.”

 

“Are you sure?” Grantaire asked.

 

Eponine smiled. “Course I am. Don't be dumb. Go, I'll see you soon.”

 

Charla dragged Grantaire away, leaving the two women alone. Eponine's smile fell.

 

“Look, I know we haven't always gotten along,” began Cosette nervously. “But I want to ask, what's going on between those two?”

 

“That's not really your business,” Eponine said tightly.

 

“Something isn't right. Don't tell me you haven't seen it.” Cosette frowned.

 

Eponine sighed, her shoulders dropping. “Really, Cosette. Do you have to stick your nose into everything?”

 

Cosette sighed before confessing, “I'm worried about Enjolras. That's all.”

 

“Enjolras?” Of all the reasons Eponine had been expecting, Enjolras had not been near the top of the list. To say she was shocked would be an understatement.

 

“He's still got feelings for him, Ponine.” Cosette said. “I thought that if I did this consultation I could tell Enj that Grantaire is really happy and that this wedding was going to be a good thing. But now I'm not so sure.”

 

“Enj still has feelings for R? Are you fucking kidding me?” Eponine nearly snarled. “That man broke my best friend's heart. Senior year was miserable because of that guy.”

 

“I don't know anything about that,” Cosette said. “I just know that Charla and Grantaire aren't happy together. I can see it.”

 

Eponine dropped her defensive stance immediately. “Is it really that obvious?”

 

“Yes. They should go see my father.”

 

“The beekeeper?” sneered Eponine.

 

“'Ponine, you know he's more than that.” Cosette reprimanded softly.

 

Eponine sighed. “I'm sorry, Cosette. I just can't stand pretending anymore. I hate Charla. I hate her friends. I just want R to be happy.”

 

Cosette placed her hand on Eponine's arm. “Come to the meeting tonight? Talk to Enjolras. Maybe you'll see he's not such a bad guy.”

 

Eponine snorted. Cosette raised a brow and Eponine replied. “You're right. I'll come.”

 

Cosette smiled, she pulled Eponine into a hug. “Oh I've missed you!”

 

“I've missed you too.” Eponine said quietly. “Course I liked you better as a brunette.”

 

Cosette laughed slapping her friend lightly on the arm. “I thought being a blonde would be more fun...but I kinda miss my original hair color too.”

 

“Glad you got a job here,” Eponine said pulling away. “Glad you got a job anywhere but the B&B to be honest.”

 

Cosette smiled grimly. She remembered her time working for the Thenardiers. It was an awful experience, and the only good thing to come of it was her friendship with Eponine. “I don't know how you and Gav turned out to be such good people. Your parents are monstrous.”

 

Eponine shrugged. “We had good friends. I'm lucky that Bahorel and Grantaire befriended me. R's mother was more of a mother to me than my own. I just wish Azelma would get out.”

 

Cosette nodded. The middle Thenardier had decided to stay with her parents at the B&B and was working as a maid. Although it was a miserable, thankless job, her parents spoiled her, ensuring that she stayed.

 

-

Eponine walked home contemplating everything that had happened this morning. Charla had appeared perfectly civil, asking into Gavroche's education and even Eponine's own life. However it was clear that there was something off between her and Grantaire. R had been curiously silent throughout the whole process. There was no doubt that she was worried for her best friend. Not only that but hearing that Enjolras still has feelings for R made her suspicious. She intended to find out what was going on, come hell or high water.

 

-

That evening Eponine went to her first meeting since high school. Trotting along at her side was Gavroche. The brunette hated leaving her brother home alone, especially on a Friday night, and she figured Gav could just do something to entertain himself quietly in the corner. They made it to the Musain at the same time as the others were just getting settled.

 

“Miss Eponine?” Feuilly sounded surprised. “I've never seen you here before.”

 

“Reconnaissance,” Eponine replied.

 

Feuilly nodded, clearly still confused.

 

“Eponine Thenardier? Is that really you?” boomed a voice from across the cafe.

 

Eponine turned just in time to receive Bahorel's shoulder to her face as the man pulled her into a bear hug. “Baz, off.” She grumbled into his clavicle.

 

He laughed. “Didn't think I would be seeing you at another one of these meetings.”

 

“I could say the same to you. Why are you here? I thought you hated these guys as much as I did.” Eponine said raising a brow.

 

Bahorel blushed. “I've grown up.”

 

“The hell does that mean?”

 

“Eponine?”

 

Eponine turned to see Combeferre and Marius. It was the former who had spoken. “Do you guys mind if I sit in on a meeting? For old times' sake?”

 

Combeferre shook his head. “Not at all...although truth be told these meetings have been a bit unfocused lately.”

 

Marius nodded. “There's been a lot more of group discussions, less speeches.”

 

“Okay. Is Cosette here yet?”

 

“Ep!” the blonde came racing over. “I'm glad you came! Come sit with Jehan and me.”

 

Eponine found herself being pulled over to where Jehan and Cosette had been sitting.

 

“Eponine.” Jehan greeted.

 

“Jean.”

 

“Please, you can still call me Jehan. I know it's been awhile.” Jehan said earnestly.

 

“Is Enjolras here?”

 

Jehan shook his head. “It's unlike him to be late.”

 

Eponine sighed, leaning back into her chair. She watched as Feuilly introduced Gavroche to Bahorel...she really hadn't expected to see the other here. She also hadn't expected to be so warmly welcomed back. She was about to comment on their generosity when the door opened, and an unexpected face appeared.

 

“Montparnasse?” Jehan and Eponine said simultaneously.

 

In response to his name being called out the young man sidled his way to their table. “Didn't expect to see you here, 'Ponine.”

 

“Likewise.” Eponine said thinly.

 

“I don't believe we've had the chance to meet,” Montparnasse said turning to Cosette.

 

“No, we haven’t. I'm Cosette.” She held out her hand to shake his. Instead he turned it over and kissed her palm, all the while maintaining eye contact with her.

 

“Enchante, mademoiselle.” He said softly.

 

“Marius looks like he's going to hit something,” Eponine commented lazily. “Would hate for it to be your pretty face.”

 

Montparnasse dropped Cosettes's hand with a chuckle.

 

“Seriously, Montparnasse, why are you here?” asked Jehan again.

 

“Looking for a friend,” Montparnasse said with a wink.

 

Behind them the door opened and in trudged Enjolras. He seemed to be favoring his right side slightly, creating a subtle limp. There were dark shadows under his eyes and his hair looked unwashed. Immediately Courfeyrac and Combeferre came to his side and began asking questions.

 

“What's happened to you?” Combeferre asked.

 

“Haven't been sleeping much.”

 

“And the limp?” hissed out Courfeyrac.

 

“Too much sex,” replied Enjolras. Truth be told his whole body was sore and aching. Felix had kept him up all last night and this morning too. He had been late to his first shift, and was exhausted by his second.

 

Combeferre and Courfeyrac looked at one another. “You've got to stop seeing this man, Enjolras. This isn't healthy.”

 

Enjolras shrugged. 

 

“What are your plans for after this meeting?” asked Combeferre.

 

“We're going out. He wants to treat me to something nice,” Enjolras repeated Felix's words.

 

“And then?”

 

“Then we'll probably go back to his and have sex,” Enjolras replied.

 

Combeferre and Courfeyrac shared that look again. The latter asked, “is that what you want?”

 

Enjolras shrugged. It had stopped being about what he wanted. If he needed Felix to stay; he couldn't ask for more. The other had made that very clear. “We should start this meeting.”

 

As the words left his mouth Enjolras swayed a bit. Black spots danced in his vision, and Enjolras realized he hadn't eaten much all day.

 

“Sit down,” ordered Combeferre kindly. “I'm taking over for tonight.”

 

Enjolras gratefully sat down when he noticed that Montparnasse was watching him. And behind him sat Eponine Thenardier. This meeting was certainly going to be interesting.

 

Combeferre led the meeting, true to his word. He went over last meetings minutes and took suggestions for their next event. The whole meeting was very subdued as if sensing the tiredness of its leader. Even the very eager participation from Gavroche couldn't rouse people's spirits. By the end of the meeting, Gavroche was talking excitedly with Marius about all the new things he had learned. The older man remembered felling much the same after his first meeting. Gavroche also held the attentions of Feuilly and Bahorel who were highly entertained by the teenager's antics.

 

At the same time, Montparnasse and Enjolras had gone to talk in the kitchens. No one knew how those two knew each other, or what they were talking about. However they respected Enjolras, which meant they respected his privacy too.

 

Cosette had gotten up and gone to talk to Courfeyrac, leaving Eponine alone with Jehan.

 

“So tell me, what are Enjolras' feelings toward R?” Eponine asked bluntly.

 

“What?”

 

“I was told Enjolras still is in love,” Eponine continued.

 

Jehan frowned. “Look Eponine, don't go unearthing the past.”

 

“I need to know his intentions.”

 

“I don't think you do.” Jehan said more forcefully.

 

“I came here to see if he changed from that dick he was in high school, but all he did was sit lifelessly in the corner. I want to know, Jehan. He broke my best friend's heart, and now claims to still be in love? Who the fuck does that?”

 

“I think you should go.” Jehan sighed.

 

“Tell her.” Came a quite voice behind them. They turned to see Enjolras back from the kitchen. Montparnasse had vanished.

 

Jehan looked at the circles under Enjolras' eyes, the careful way the other man held himself as if he were about to shatter, the pallor of his skin...which was much too pale...he took in all the hurt of Enjolras and felt it in his heart. Mournfully, almost regretfully, he replied, “no. It's your story. Tell it.”

 

Enjolras sat down, or maybe he collasped into the chair, it was a little hard to tell.

 

“You want to know how I feel about Grantaire?” he asked.

 

Eponine shook her head resolutely. She wouldn't allow this man's current pitifulness sway her.

 

“I wrote that email to Grantaire because I didn't think I could get those words out in person,” confessed Enjolras. “I've never been a good actor, and I knew that if I told those things to his face and watched him cry… I just couldn't take it. So I wrote an email.”

 

“You bastard.”

 

“That's not all of it,” Bahorel said coming up to the table. “You need to tell her the whole truth. She deserves to know.”

 

Enjolras continued. “I was in love with Grantaire. And he was in love with me. But he refused to apply to a school in New York because it was too far away from DC. He was willing to go to a second rate school instead of pursuing his passion for art. I couldn't let him do that. Not for me. So I lied. I told him we were through and I didn't want to be with him anymore. If it got him to apply to a New York school, I could bear his hatred for me.”

 

Eponine's heart broke. “And now? You said you were in love, what about now?”

 

“I never stopped being in love with Grantaire.” Enjolras affirmed.

 

“You need to tell him all this.” Eponine said.

 

“No. I won't ruin his marriage.”

 

“Please-”

 

“It's too late, Eponine. He's moved on. And I should have too.” Enjolras said. “We can't relive the past...didn't Gatsby teach us that?”

 

Eponine watched as Enjolras tried to stand up. “Wait,” she grabbed his wrist. “Who else knows?”

 

“That I have feelings towards R? Or about the email?”

 

“The truth about the email,” clarified Eponine.

 

“Combeferre, Courfeyrac, Jehan, Bahorel, Bianca and Grantaire's Parents,” replied Enjolras pulling away.

 

“Your mother doesn't know?”

 

“No.”

 

“But why?”

 

“She loved Grantaire, she loved us together...she would never have understood why-”

 

“She'd understand, Enjolras.”

 

“No I-”

 

“She's your mother. She loves you.”

 

Enjolras sunk back into his chair, crying.

 

“Alright, Enj. I'm taking you back home.” Bahorel said, lifting the other man easily. “Ep. We'll talk about all this at some point. I know it's a lot to process.”

 

Eponine nodded silently.

 

Enjolras clawed weakly at Bahorel. “I've got a date.”

 

“Not tonight. You need a night in.” Courfeyrac said coming over as well. “Come on, Bahorel. I'll give you a ride.”

 

-

 

Once they got Enjolras in bed, they called up Jeanne.

 

“Hello?” the older woman said tiredly.

 

“Hi, Jeanne. It's Courfeyrac.”

 

“Is everything okay?”

 

“Not really. Enjolras has been suffering a lot, emotionally speaking that is. I think he really needs to hear from you. I know this isn't an ideal time-”

 

“Put him on.” She no longer sounded tired or sick, instead she sounded like her fierce old self. “Enj?”

 

“ _Maman_?” Enjolras asked softly. “I'm sorry. I'm so so sorry.”

 

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” soothed his mother.

 

“I've neglected you,” sobbed Enjolras. “I haven't been by and-”

 

“Hush. That's not important right now. You've been working too hard, _mon ange_. You need rest too.” Jeanne said.

 

“No I've got-”

 

“Shh, sweetheart. Everything will be alright. You can tell me about it when you come see me. As for right now, you need sleep.” Jeanne began to hum softly. It was a song she had used as a lullaby when he was little, and immediately Enjolras began to relax. Jeanne continued to sing softly as Enjolras curled up under his covers.

 

In the kitchen Courfeyrac was making some coffee for him and Bahorel. The other man had decided to stay until Enjolras was settled. Suddenly there was a knock at the door. Courfeyrac opened it to reveal an older man, wearing a fine gray suit over a black button down. His smile dropped when he saw Courfeyrac, transforming into a cool nonchalance.

 

“I'm looking for Enjolras. I was supposed to meet him after some little meeting at that cafe of his. We have a date.”

 

“You must be Felix,” Courfeyrac said slowly.

 

“Yes.” Felix smirked. “Is he in?”

 

“He needs a night off, Felix.” Courfeyrac said. Looming behind him was Bahorel, who was glaring at the older man.

 

“This is a longstanding reservation,” Felix protested politely.

 

“He was swaying on his feet,” Courfeyrac replied angrily. “Between his three jobs and you he has barely been eating, and has hardly been sleeping! He's past the point of sanity. He's exhausted, and needs a night in.”

 

Felix frowned, his facade dropping. “Fine. But I should be in there with him. I am his boyfriend.”

 

Bahorel's frown deepened. “Just give the boy a night in with his friends. That really isn't too hard, now is it, Senator.”

 

Felix backed up a step.

 

“Oh I know all about you.” Bahorel said stepping into Felix's space. “How would your wife like it if she found out you were sleeping with a man.”

 

“She knows all about my tastes,” Felix shot back.

 

“Does the press?”

 

Felix clenched his teeth.

 

“Enj is spending the night with us. Now get out unless you want a black eye, Senator,” Bahorel continued calmly. The man turned and ran.

 

Courfeyrac let out a low whistle. “I'm shocked you knew all that about him.”

 

“I look out for my friends. Now let's continue our coffee.”

 

The two men entered the apartment. They found Enjolras asleep, his mother still singing to him while she could.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I cried while writing this chapter...yeah I definitely did...  
> Thanks for the constant support! Loved the comments, keep it up! Y'all are the best :)  
> Inspiration for Charla's bouquet: http://www.marthastewartweddings.com/269172/yellow-wedding-bouquets#311510  
> New chapter posted next weekend! ~T.W.o.W.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: some suicidal thoughts and minor descriptions of abuse

Saturday morning, and Enjolras woke up later than usual. His mouth tasted like an ash tray, not like he knew what that was like, and his hair was all over the place. But he was grateful. His friends had let him sleep in since he only had one shift at the Musain that day. He figured he might use his free afternoon to go see his mother. It really had been too long. He was alone in the kitchen pouring his second cup of coffee when he heard someone pounding on the door. He opened it to find Jehan standing there, completely out of breath.

 

“You're buying Montparnasse's motorcycle?” the ginger said in lieu of a greeting.

 

“What?” Enjolras stepped back to let his friend in.

 

Jehan rounded on him immediately and continued. “What the hell are you going to do with a motorcycle, Enj?”

 

“Did Montparnasse tell you this?” Enjolras asked, so much for discretion.

 

“His words were 'crotch rocket,' but yeah I figured out what he meant. But in all honesty, why the hell do you need a motorcycle?” Jehan said cocking his hip, crossing his arms. The kind man fixated a glare with deadly accuracy which made Enjolras squirm.

 

“I-”

 

“Is your bike not enough?” Jehan asked earnestly

 

Enjolras looked down at his toes. “It's not that.”

 

“Then what is it? You don't even know how to drive a motorcycle, do you?”

 

“No...but I could learn,” Enjolras grumbled softly.

 

Jehan relaxed his stance, “what's this really about, Enj?”

 

“Have you ever wanted to be more...I don't know...daring?” Enjolras asked. He felt foolish as soon as the words left his mouth.

 

Jehan's brow furrowed. “I'm not sure that I understand.”

 

“Have you ever felt trapped here, in Montfermeil? Like the whole town is closing in on you and you just can't breath? Like the only way out is to defy expectation.” Enjolras said in one go.

 

The crease between Jehan's brows deepened. “And you think a motorcycle will help you to 'defy expectation'?”

 

“It surprised you,” Enjolras argued.

 

Jehan conceded. “ _Touche_.”

 

“But it doesn't have to be a motorcycle. It could be anything. A tattoo, taboo sex, facial piercings, drugs, whatever,” Enjolras said flippantly.

 

“I-” Jehan's eyes widened. He wasn't prepared for the mental image Enjolras' words painted. He couldn't imagine Enj doing drugs or getting a septum piercing. Jehan shook of those thoughts, and weakly continued, “Please tell me you aren't thinking of getting a facial piercing.”

 

“Look, Jehan. I'm trapped here. I'm working three dead end jobs just to stay on top of all of my bills. I am no closer to being a lawyer than before.” Jehan looked like he wanted to interject. “No, let's face it. I'm failing all my courses right now. Montfermeil is circling in getting closer and closer, and there is no way out. Is it so wrong to want to live a little?” asked Enjolras desperately.

 

“Of course not. But are you living your life, or the life Felix wants you to be living?”

 

“What?”

 

“Are you living vicariously because you want to or is he living vicariously through you?” Jehan asked. “Because those are two very different things.”

 

Enjolras' face turned into an arrogant mask, so different from how he usually spoke to his friends, “It's my life-”

 

“Enjolras, stop. I don't want you lying to me. You never have before and I would rather you don't start now.” Jehan said gently.

 

Enjolras' face crumpled, softening at the edges. He leaned into his friend's open arms and began to sob. Jehan guided them both to the couch, all the while holding Enjolras in his arms.

 

“Hush, love. It's okay. I'm all for you getting a tattoo, or experimenting in bed...so long as that's what you want. Just please don't do anything you're uncomfortable with. Especially not for a man, no matter who he is. If he's pushing you, he's not worth it. Do you hear me?” Jehan whispered fiercely.

 

Enjolras let out another sob before pulling Jehan closer. Jehan began rubbing the blond's back, soothing him. He wanted to kill Felix for what he was doing to Enjolras. “You are so much stronger than your pain, Enjolras. I know you're hurting, but you can do this. You don't need Felix. You have a family here. Please don't ignore your life here, with us. He's not worth this heartache. I'm sure Combeferre and Courfeyrac would agree. Feuilly too. We love you Enj. Please.”

 

Enjolras continued to cry as Jehan rocked him slowly. Although the redhead's words were well aimed, they would not be enough to dislodge Felix's hold on the young man. A drowning man is desperate and will cling to anything which promises to hold him above water, even if it is the fin of a shark.

-

At the Musain later that afternoon, Eponine and Bahorel were having a meeting of their own.

 

“We need to talk about this wedding.” Eponine started after ordering her coffee.

 

Bahorel nodded. “Tell me what you can. R's been distant ever since he came back.”

 

“Well for starters, have you met the bride?” Eponine growled.

 

“No, but I think I've seen her at the gym,” Bahorel said thinking back. It had not been a nice interaction to say the least, and although he could hardly say that he had met her, he certainly remembered her.

 

“What did you think of her?”

 

“She's fucking gorgeous, but other than that I don't know. She was talking on her bluetooth and well...she didn't have nice things to say,” Bahorel said with a frown.

 

“Who was she insulting this time?” Eponine asked tiredly.

 

“Grantaire.”

 

Eponine swore. “I fucking hate that woman. She's all wrong for him, Baz. Completely wrong, and what's the worse, what's the absolute worst part is that she's got him believing he deserves her treatment.”

 

Bahorel sat stony faced. “That's abuse, Eponine, be careful-”

 

“Fuck off, I've lived with abusive, manipulative people all my life. I know what it looks like. And I can tell you she's abusing him. He barely talks anymore; she won't let him. She's pushy, and judgmental...she hates everything about our town, and I think she hates the part of R that came from here. I don't know why she's marrying him if she can't stand him. I can't let this wedding happen.”

 

“Ep, is it really our place-”

 

“Oh don't you dare, Bahorel. You agreed to hear me out, so fucking listen. Charla is a gold digging, manipulative, abuser. Grantaire will barely look me in the eye. The last time we really talked was about one of his paintings. He described it as Romanticism. And fuck, he was so excited you should have heard him...but then when Charla was bragging about his art she called it Abstract. And do you know how he looked? He looked cowed. He should be proud of his work, but instead she's got him ashamed. She's stifling his creativity and manipulating it, Bahorel. I know she is.”

 

“People change. If you look at any artist their style changes throughout their lifetime,” reasoned Bahorel. “We weren't there with him in New York. Maybe he does abstracts now.”

 

Eponine's fire disappeared; the young woman slumped. Softly she replied. “I know. I wish we had been there for him.”

 

“We'll talk to some of his friends. He told me he's got a couple college friends from New York coming for the wedding. We can ask them.” Bahorel patted her arm.

 

“I hope they're good people. He needs someone in his corner right now.”

 

Bahorel smiled. “He's got you. In my mind that makes him one of the luckiest people in the world.”

 

Eponine blushed. “Shut up.”

 

“Hey, we'll figure this out. Just be there for him, yeah? That's all we can do.”

 

Eponine nodded. “I know, and I try but Charla has me running so many errands. I barely see him anymore...and when I do, she's always there too.”

 

“She sounds like a bad case of chlamydia,” joked Bahorel. “Impossible to get rid of.”

 

Eponine sighed. “If you think Charla is bad, wait til you meet the other bridesmaids.”

 

“They're worse than what you just described?” Bahorel said, raising his eyebrows in an attempt to return humor to their conversation.

 

Eponine let out a dry laugh. “Somehow they make Charla look tame. They're fucking WASPs if I've ever seen one. Entitled and privileged little bitches who keep the economy going through their daddys' trust funds.”

 

“Daddy as in actual father, or daddy as in sugar daddy?” asked Bahorel.

 

Eponine snorted. “I don't know. Both?”

 

“They sound charming,” Bahorel laughed. “But at least they serve a purpose.”

 

“What?”

 

Bahorel raised a brow. “You said they keep the economy going. That sounds useful to me.”

 

Eponine laughed. “Oh Lord. Useful as two wet matches. I haven't even told you the worst part. They want to fuck R.”

 

“What?” Bahorel's laughter stopped abruptly. “Like all of them?”

 

“All but one...she tried to hit on me. Anyway they say they hate Charla and it's their way of getting back.” Eponine shrugged. “I'm almost for it, if it'll call off this wedding.”

 

“You can't be that desperate, Ep.”

 

“Well I am. I'm tempted to come up with an excuse for when the minister asks if there are any objections. Think R would believe I've been in love with him this whole time?” Eponine asked.

 

“No.”

 

“What about that I have been secretly engaged to him since birth?” joked Eponine.

 

“Definitely a no.”

 

“Charla's his secret sister?”

 

“No.”

 

“Charla's already married to me?”

 

“No,” chuckled Bahorel.

 

Eponine started to laugh as well. “Well guess we're fucked then.”

 

Behind them Enjolras moved away, sick to his stomach. He had heard everything they had said. All he could do was listen, a sick fascination rooting him to the spot. Was Grantaire really in for a loveless marriage? Enjolras wracked his brain trying to think of anyway that he could stop this wedding. Unfortunately as soon as an idea came to him, he could think of ten reasons why it wouldn't work. There was nothing he could do. He was still in love with Grantaire, and there was no way to save him.

 

“Enjolras? Enjolras, are you okay?” Marius asked as the blond entered the kitchen. “Cosette! Cosette come here. It's Enjolras.”

 

Immediately the young woman was by his side. “Enj? Love? What's wrong? What is it, sweetheart?”

 

Enjolras let out a choke of a laugh. “The world is so fucking screwed up, you know that?”

 

Cosette and Marius shared an uneasy look. If their resident optimist was feeling this way, something must be going really wrong.

 

“What's happened, Enjolras? Use your words,” Cosette coaxed.

 

“I'm in love...and that bitch Charla has fucked up everything,” in his rage, Enjolras shoved pots off the counter creating a loud clatter as they tumbled to the floor. “I've got to see Felix.”

 

“Did you just say Felix?” Cosette asked backing away slightly. She looked edgy, a foreign expression to the waitress' usual easy going persona, making both Marius and Enjolras nervous.

 

Marius looked at his two coworkers, both of who appeared to be on the verge of a panic attack, and decided to deal with them one at a time. “Cosette, get some air. Go, I'll take care of him. Charlie, clean this up...and tell the boss I'm taking Enjolras home.”

 

Charlie nodded as Marius guided the other man out the back. In the alley, Cosette was breathing shakily, leaning against the wall.

 

“It's not him. It can't be him. Papa would know if he were...It's not him,” she said to herself. Her hands were shaking as she pulled out her cell phone to call her father.

 

Marius was anxious to know what had gotten her so frightened, but felt duty bound to help Enjolras first.

 

“I can't go home. Courfeyrac has enough to worry abou-”

 

“I'm taking you to your mother.” Marius said, helping Enjolras into his car.

 

“You're what!?”

 

“She's the only one who can talk sense into you. And I know for a fact you haven't seen her recently. We're going to the hospital.”

 

“Forget Courfeyrac! Take me home. You can't take me to her. She can't know about-”

 

“Enjolras, shut up.” Marius said. He snapped his mouth closed not quite believing that he had told Enjolras to shut up. He continued a little more calmly, “she's your mother. She's got a right to know what's going on in your life.” 

 

“Take me to Felix, he'll understand. He can make this pain go away.” Whined Enjolras clawing at his seat belt.

 

“The thing about pain, Enjolras, is it demands to be felt.”

 

“Is that a fucking John Green quote?” Enjolras said squinting at Marius.

 

The other man blushed. “Um...yes. But that's beside the point. You can't keep bottling up your pain and hurt because then you'll turn into a bitter old man.”

 

“Maybe I want to be a bitter old man,” argued Enjolras.

 

“No you don't. You want to be a lawyer.”

 

“Forget being a lawyer. It's not going to happen, Marius. Not for me.” Enjolras screamed, angry tears burning in his eyes.

 

“Fine, then find a new dream...but so help me God, Enjolras, you are not going to be a bitter, mean old man.” Marius shouted back.

 

“And why is that?”

 

“Because you are one of my best friends. I want you to be an honorary uncle to my children. And if you're bitter because your dreams never came true, and you believe the whole world is a miserable place, well what will you be like around my kids? I won't have people like that in their lives. Besides you're an optimist, Enjolras, and you will change the world. And maybe it's by being a lawyer, but maybe you'll be a teacher, or a doctor, or a midwife.”

 

“I'm not becoming a midwife, Pontmercy,” Enjolras said regaining his cool sarcastic tone.

 

Marius blushed. “Um right. Maybe not...”

 

“Why would you even suggest that one?”

 

“I was talking to one of the nurses when I was visiting your mom...except she wasn't just a nurse she was a certified nurse midwife, and well she said that she feels like her job is very… um… satisfying,” Marius ended lamely.

 

“Why was there a midwife in the cancer ward?” Asked Enjolras with some trepidation.

 

“She was visiting her girlfriend I think,” replied Marius.

 

“That sucks, that her girlfriend has cancer,” sighed Enjolras.

 

Marius' eyes went wide. “Oh no. I didn't...um no. Her girlfriend is a nurse who works in the cancer ward? I didn't mean to imply that she actually has cancer. Not that that is a bad thing just-”

 

“Calm down, Marius. And yes we can agree that having cancer is a bad thing,” Enjolras chuckled. They had arrived at the hospital's visitor entrance. As Enjolras was getting out he asked Marius, “check in with Cosette, will you? And can you apologize to her for me?”

 

“For what?”

 

“She was freaking out, and I wasn't being very helpful,” Enjolras said ashamed.

 

Marius shrugged. “I am sure she'll forgive you.”

 

“Just apologize anyway, will you?”

 

“You can, when you see her next,” Marius offered with a smile. “And tell your mom I say hi!”

 

Enjolras thanked Marius for everything before entering the hospital. What little good mood he had generated in the car with Marius disappeared the closer he got to the cancer wing. He felt shame wash over him. It really had been too long since he had last visited her.

 

He found his mother in her bed reading a book. 

 

“Enjolras?” She put the book down, and immediately gestured for him to come closer. “What is it? What's wrong?”

 

Relief coursed through Enjolras' system. He ran to her, falling into her arms. “I've missed you, _Maman_.”

 

“I've missed you too, love.” Gently she ran her fingers through his curls. “What has brought this on? Not that I'm ungrateful.”

 

Enjolras pulled back slightly. “I was ungrateful. I shouldn't have stopped visiting you...it's just I met somebody.”

 

Jeanne's smile brightened up the whole room, her eyes were alight with joy. “That's wonderful! Tell me all about him.”

 

Enjolras shrugged. “I...can we not? Just for right now...can we pretend that nothing has changed?”

 

His mother became somber. “Of course, Enjolras.”

 

She continued to stroke his hair, humming under her breath.

 

“Thank you,” he murmured softly.

 

“How was your day?”

 

“Horrible.”

 

“Do you want to talk about it?”

 

“I think Grantaire is being abused.”

 

His words hung in the air. Jeanne was silent, waiting for him to continue. She showed no sign of disbelief or shock, except for momentarily tightening her grip on his hair.

 

“I don't know what I should do...” Enjolras said softly into her shoulder.

 

She continued to listen.

 

“Who would possibly listen to me? What do I know about any of this… _Maman_?”

 

“Yes?” she asked softly.

 

“I'm scared.”

 

Instantly she was brought back to his youth, when he had nightmares and insisted on climbing into her lap to cry. She swallowed, tears pooling at the corners of her eyes. She choked out, “and why is that?”

 

“I'm scared for Grantaire. And for you. And because I don't see anything in my future. Nothing at all. I'm starting to think that I might be better off dead.”

 

She whispered, “Stop.”

 

Blindly Enjolras continued,“I don't like where my life is going. I don't want to live without you. I can't live in a world where Grantaire is with Charla, where Charla is abusing him. I don't want to go on, _Maman_. And that scares me the most.”

 

“Stop.” she said more forcefully. Tears were streaming down her cheeks, Enjolras looked up. He was crying too. “I know you're scared, but you can't give up. This life is too beautiful to want to throw away. It's a miracle, Enjolras, and I won't let you take it for granted.”

 

Enjolras heaved, her grip around him tightened. She was real; she wasn't gone yet.

 

“Look outside. Tell me what you see.”

 

“A parking lot-” he began dully.

 

“Look again,” Jeanne said glancing out the window.

 

“I see a parking lot filled with cars, trash littering the pavement, a gray sky,” Enjolras sulked.

 

His mother's hold became tighter. “You want to know what I see? I see people, mothers and fathers, daughters and sons. I see birds flying, and jumping about in that odd way they do. I see plants fighting for their right to live, and winning against cement. They're blooming, against all the adversity stacked against them, they're there...alive. Look, there are clouds, and up there there is rain. Imagine feeling spring rain on your skin, Enjolras. There are so many beautiful little miracles out there, and if you ended your life you would miss them. You wouldn't get to feel the rain soak you to the bone again. Or the relief of warm, dry clothes after a standing out in a storm. You wouldn't hear the birds begin to chirp when the sunrises. You would never get to know the feeling of your husband's two day stubble as he kisses you, and you would never hear your child's first words. And most of all you will miss out on the man I know you are going to be. The world will never get to see you, and that might be the most terrible crime of them all.”

 

Enjolras stared at his mother. “But what about you? I don't want any of those things without you.”

 

“Oh, Enjolras. I've seen all those things. I have made my peace with dying.”

 

“The treatment could still work,” Enjolras argued.

 

“You and I both know that it is only delaying the inevitable,” Jeanne said gently. She folded one hand into his. “I just want to see you happy again. That's all I want.”

 

“The man I met is married.” Enjolras said feeling the need to be honest with his mother.

 

There was no disappointment or hurt in Jeanne's eyes. Instead she asked, “is it love?”

 

“I...I don't know…?” Enjolras said blinking owlishly. He was frowning looking anywhere but his mother's face.

 

“You'll figure it out,” Jeanne said patiently.

 

“I think I might do something stupid,” confessed Enjolras.

 

“And what is that?” Jeanne asked seriously.

 

“I think I'm going to get a tattoo.”

 

Jeanne let out a little laugh. “You scared me for a moment there. And getting a tattoo is nothing stupid.”

 

Enjolras cuddled up with her, burrowing his head into her shoulder. “Thank you. For everything.”

 

Jeanne kissed the crown of his head. “You are very welcome.”

 

“Can I make another confession?”

 

“Of course.”

 

“That email,” the words caught in Enjolras throat. “The one I wrote to Grantaire before senior year...I didn't want to break up with him...quite the opposite actually...but he was being stubborn and wanted to come to DC with me for college to go to some second rate community college...well his mother said there was a really good school in New York...so I broke up with him so he could follow his dreams, but I couldn't do it in person...so I wrote that damned email. I wanted him to study art at a proper school. So I broke his heart so that he wouldn't follow me.”

 

Jeanne was silent, the words sunk in. She pulled her son tighter. “Sweetheart, how long has this been weighing on you?”

 

Enjolras continued to cry. “Since I decided to write the stupid thing.”

 

“Who else knows?” Jeanne asked.

 

“Grantaire's parents, Bianca, Combeferre and Courfeyrac, Jehan, Bahorel, and now Eponine,” Enjolras said.

 

“I see.” Jeanne paused, “is there a reason you couldn't tell me until now?”

 

“I know how much you liked R. I was worried you would tell him the truth, or try and talk me out of it.” Enjolras explained.

 

Jeanne nodded. “I understand. Thank you for telling me.”

 

“And _maman_?”

 

“Yes dear?”

 

“I'm still in love with him,” the words were slurred by exhaustion. It was clear that Enjolras didn't realize what he was confessing to, but Jeanne believed every word he said. Enjolras drowsily cuddled closer. It appeared that he was dozing off. As Jeanne held her son she couldn't help but think of all the sacrifices Enjolras was making for her...and for R. She couldn't begin to imagine how much pain he must be in.

 

“What are you reading?” Enjolras asked softly. It was clear he was trying to remain conscious.

 

“ _The Count of Monte Cristo_ ,” Jeanne said with a smile.

 

“Will you read it to me?” Enjolras asked.

 

In his childhood he had spent many evenings curled up with his mother just like this with her reading anything they could get their hands on. The library in Montfermeil didn't have a lot to offer, so Jeanne often found herself rereading classics to her toddler son. But somehow they made it work. It was his fondest memories as a boy, because he was fascinated by her voice. She could create characters at the drop of a hat, but no matter who was speaking Enjolras knew he was safe. As he grew older he resented the naive boy who still had his mother read to him. He demanded they stop, and she had acquiesced to his wishes. He regretted that demand immensely. 

 

And so Jeanne read to him, her voice soothing as the rain on the windowpane. Enjolras soon drifted off to sleep. She set the book down and watched her son intently. There were bags under his eyes; his lips were chapped and bruised, and Jeanne was pretty sure he was thinner than he had been recently. She ran her hand over his forehead as if to erase the furrows which lay there.

 

“Oh.” It was a small sound from the door. “I should go.”

 

Jeanne turned to find Grantaire dripping at her door. The rain had soaked him through, the only dry thing about him was the sketchbook under his arm. She looked at him and then softly but forcefully said, “stay.”

 

“I don't want to intrude. You need time with your son. Besides, it looks like he could use the rest,” Grantaire let out a humorless laugh.

 

“And what about you?” Jeanne's ease disappeared. “How's the wedding planning?”

 

Grantaire suddenly looked older than his 24 years. “It's fine.”

 

“Is that all?” She pursed her lips.

 

“What have you heard?”

 

“Only rumors, which I won't put any stock in...unless they're true?” Jeanne asked. “What's Charla really like?”

 

“She's sweet, until she's not.” Grantaire paused. “Sometimes she's moody and has a temper. Other times she's indifferent and distant. She's super independent...most of the time, and then sometimes she will be clingy. She supports me though, so long as I listen to her advice and follow it. I think she just wants to be heard. She corrects me when I need it, and has stopped me from embarrassing myself numerous times. She's there for me when I needed someone to stop me from hurting myself, and sometimes she will complain about it, but she's always there.”

 

The longer Grantaire talked the more serious Jeanne's expression became. “Have you considered why she acts this way?”

 

Grantaire shrugged. “I've been with men most of my life, I figured this is just what women are like in a relationship.”

 

“Is this how your mother is to your father? What about that New York girl? Musichetta? Does she treat her boyfriends like this?” Jeanne asked.

 

Grantaire frowned. Musichetta could be sassy, and she often teased Joly or Bossuet but it was never cruel. And his mother...she was always looking out for her family, but she never made anyone feel bad for making a mistake. And he knew for a fact that both women supported their men, even if they had decided to ignore their advice to seek out their own paths. “I..uh.. no.”

 

“I see.”

 

Suddenly Grantaire was filled with the overwhelming urge to defend his relationship. “She's just a bit mercurial.”

 

“Of course.”

 

“We have our good days,” Grantaire defended.

 

“I'm sure.”

 

“She truly is spectacular.”

 

“Are you trying to convince me or yourself?”

 

Grantaire looked down at Enjolras' sleeping form. “I don't have any other choice.”

 

“You always have a choice,” Jeanne said.

 

“I'm never going to meet someone who could love me and is as incredible as she is,” Grantaire seemed to be talking to Enjolras' sleeping form.

 

“And what if you've already met them?” Jeanne said looking distinctly at Enjolras. Enjolras' own confession about the email was straining at her lips, but she knew better than to say anything.

 

Grantaire let out a choked laugh. “Are you even remembering correctly? He broke up with me. I don't even think he likes me at all. He always looked so pissed when I walk into the Musain while he's working. I thought I could reconnect, but I don't think he wants that.”

 

“You're saying an awful lot about how you think he feels,” Jeanne noted. “But what about you? How do you feel?”

 

Grantaire shrugged. “I've moved on.”

 

“Is that so?” Jeanne questioned. “You're happy with Charla.”

 

“I'm never going to do better-”

 

“So you're settling,” Jeanne interrupted.

 

“I can't believe I'm having this conversation with you,” muttered Grantaire. “Yes I'm settling, but I'm never going to be happier than this. Just stay out of it, I don't even know why I told you.”

 

“Why did you come see me today?” Jeanne asked softly.

 

“I thought it would make me feel better.”

 

“Better?”

 

“Charla's having one of her fits, and she took Eponine off somewhere. I can't go see my mother about this; she wouldn't understand. I thought maybe you would… but I can see that I was wrong.” Grantaire turned to go. Again Jeanne was tempted to tell him the truth, and again she forced herself to stay silent.

 

“Remember, you always have a choice.”

 

Grantaire nodded. He didn't need another cliché to add to his long list of mistakes. He had come to sketch Jeanne, but seeing Enjolras asleep in her arms made him pause. It had been so long since he had seen the other man so vulnerable. It had brought back memories of those long drives to nowhere with Enjolras in the passenger seat of his beat up car. They just drove into the night sharing dreams and secrets, the darkness brought comfort and a sort of anonymity. It was nice. Grantaire missed those drives. Once they had driven so long that they had reached Manhattan.

 

“I'm going to be an artist there one day,” Grantaire had boasted. They had been sitting in the car together staring across the river at the city that never sleeps. 

 

“Mhm,” Enjolras had replied sleepily, their hands were intertwined in his lap.

 

“And you'll be there with me.” 

 

“Oh?” a small smile graced Enjolras' lips. “And what would I do in New York?”

 

“Whatever you want! You could be a lawyer here, it's not DC...but there are plenty of courthouses here that need ace lawyers like you.” Grantaire blushed. “I mean if that's what you want...”

 

“I'm not 'ace'. I don't even know if I would be even a _good lawyer_ ,” Enjolras confessed his fears to the dark.

 

“You'll be incredible. I know it...I just hope you can be incredible with me?” Grantaire peeked up at Enjolras from under his long lashes.

 

“Of course. New York sounds incredible. Being with you is incredible.” Enjolras pulled him into a sleepy kiss. It was slow and warm and chaste. The perfect way to end a summer's night. Enjolras pulled away with a slight frown as if remembering an unpleasant thought. “What about your Cinderella license?”

 

Grantaire looked at the clock with a little laugh. “I think it's a bit late to be worried about that.”

 

Enjolras laughed too. “Okay, but if we get pulled over-”

 

Grantaire brought his lips back to Enjolras'.

 

-

 

“Sir, are you alright?” A nurse asked him.

 

“Huh?”

 

“You were kind of staring into space. Is everything alright?” She was looking at him with mild concern. It was her uniform which brought him back to where he was. The hospital. Jeanne was dying, and Enjolras was with her.

 

He smiled wanly. “It's fine. I just was caught up in the past.”

 

She nodded uneasily and left him to his thoughts. Grantaire began to walk away, trying to bring back the memories of that last summer he and Enjolras had had. He would do anything to remember...

 

_“'Can't repeat the past?...Why of course you can.'”_

 

Grantaire shivered. Shaking his head he resolved to forget. He continued to walk away, determined not to follow the tragic example of Gatsby. He had made his choice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter isn't exactly happy...but I hope it was a nice change from the previous abuse. I loved writing Jeanne in this chapter!!! Also I headcanon that Marius has read all of John Green's books and absolutely loves them. You can fight me on this. Recently I've thrown in some Gatsby allusions which I think are appropriate for the story, I hope you agree. Thanks for your continued support, it means a lot to me. New chapter next weekend! Feel free to leave a comment below, they make my day!! xoxo ~T.W.o.W.


	15. Chapter 15

Grantaire did a good job of forgetting. He stayed busy working with Charla on their wedding, as well as going to his mother's to paint. He managed to forget. He managed to forget Enjolras until the following Wednesday when he saw the blond through the large glass windows of the store front. The other man was pulling up his shirt and appeared to be gesturing to his lower back. Grantaire had to do a double take to fully understand the seriousness of the situation. Enjolras was in a tattoo parlor. And it looked like he was going to get a tramp stamp.

 

Before Grantaire could even process what he was doing, he found himself charging into the shop. The only warning the other got was the chime as the door opened. Grantaire opened his mouth before Enjolras had time to react.

 

“No.”

 

“Grantaire?” Enjolras turned, hastily pulling his shirt down.

 

“Absolutely not.” R protested.

 

“What the fuck?” Enjolras said coming to his senses.

 

Grantaire stormed over to where the blond was to pull up his shirt. Already on his skin was the pale lines of a stencil. “Hell no. You are not getting a tramp stamp, Enjolras. Especially not one that says 'raise a little hell'. What are you even thinking?”

 

“Shove off,” Enjolras pushed Grantaire away. “I've made the appointment, I'm getting a tattoo. Besides what right do you have over my body?”

 

Grantaire let out a huff. Behind the desk the receptionist rose. He was a hulking man, hired clearly for his ability to scare off troublesome interlopers.“Is this guy causing any problems?”

 

“No, Gueulemer. This gentleman was just leaving,” the tattoo artist said pushing Grantaire towards the door.

 

From behind him Enjolras was watching him uneasily.

 

“Please, Enj,” Grantaire begged. “Don't do this. You're going to regret it.”

 

“Would you shut up? The young man has already made his choice.” The artist sneered.

 

“Thank you, Babet,” Enjolras muttered softly.

 

The artist grinned. Grantaire thought he looked like a piranha. “Please just...Never mind. Do what you want.”

 

Grantaire walked away, leaving Enjolras very confused. He felt hurt. The small bit of confidence he had built up was now completely shattered. He should be angry at the brunet, and yet a small part of Enjolras wanted to listen to him.

 

“Shall we begin?” Babet asked gesturing to the back room. “I assume you are happy with the placement and design?”

 

“I..uh...” Enjolras nodded. Babet grinned before escorting Enjolras to the back room.

-

 

That afternoon Enjolras was having the shift from hell. The skin around his tattoo was red and slightly raised. He was reluctant to make any sudden moves, since his muscles were still tense not to mention a little sore. Because of this, he spent most of the afternoon working behind the counter. It required less movement, and also allowed for him to rest more.

 

“Well aren't you beautiful,” wolf whistled Felix coming to the bar. “Cute too in that apron of yours.”

 

Enjolras blushed. “I didn't think you could come.”

 

“Well when you told me about this morning's adventures...how could I not? Can I see it?” Felix asked hungrily. He rested his elbows on the counter leaning far into Enjolras' space.

 

The waiter pulled away. “It's still red and a bit...I'd rather we wait.”

 

Felix leaned back in his seat, the picture of ease. “Very well. If that's what you want, pet. Get me a coffee, and then tell your boss you will be taking your break.”

 

Enjolras nodded before turning around to grab the pot of coffee. Finding both gone, clearly one of the waitresses was making her rounds, he went to the kitchen to brew another pot. When he returned he found that Felix was no longer alone. The coffee pot shattered as it hit the floor.

 

Felix disinterestedly turned his head at the sound of glass breaking.

 

“Enjolras, are you alright?” Grantaire, the man sitting beside Felix, stood up as if to go to him. However it was Felix who moved faster.

 

“Damn,” Enjolras muttered. Hot coffee and broken glass lay at his feet. Gingerly he bent down to pick up the larger pieces. In an instant Felix was by his side. Instead of helping the waiter, he placed a hand on his lower back, clearly marking his territory. 

 

“Don't forget, you're mine” he whispered into Enjolras' ear. He added a bit more pressure causing Enjolras to squirm. “I'll be back when you've got this mess cleaned up.”

 

Grantaire couldn't help but notice how Enjolras flinched at the touch, and gently pulled himself away. The older man left, striding past Grantaire, purposefully bumping into him. Grantaire made his way past the counter to where Enjolras had just knelt.

 

As he joined the blond on the floor he asked, “are you alright?”

 

Enjolras just nodded, but he was blinking a lot.

 

“He's the reason you got that tattoo. Isn't he.”

 

Enjolras flushed. “It's none of your business.”

 

“I saw the way he touched you. I saw how he watched you since the moment you came back from the kitchens. You can't hide that he's got a thing for you. I just didn't think you would go for older guys,” Grantaire bit back. An uneasy feeling curled in his stomach, tense like an adder about to strike.

 

“Are you jealous?”

 

Grantaire tightened his lips, his eyes hard. He watched Enjolras gingerly pick up the larger pieces of glass, while holding his left arm at an awkward angle. He watched the blond repeat the motion a couple time before saying, “show me your arm.”

 

“No.” The fire that had just been burning in Enjolras had gone out. He was ashamed for lashing out. And to be honest he was just so tired.

 

Before anything could be done, Grantaire reached out grabbing Enjolras' left wrist. He was afraid of what he might find. He feared bruises, signs of abuse, or scars, signs of self harm, and didn't know which would be worse. With trepidation he rolled up the sleeves of the black button down revealing neither of those things. Trailing across his forearm in diminutive script were the words “per ardua ad astra”. Grantaire let out sigh he hadn't even known he'd been holding in. “Oh.”

 

“You were right. I couldn't,” Enjolras swallowed. “That design...I couldn't do it. Not even for him.”

 

“Through adversity to the stars,” muttered Grantaire in awe. Gently he traced the letters, careful not to upset Enjolras. Initially Enjolras tensed at Grantaire's touch, afraid it would hurt, but he quickly found that it just tickled. Softly Grantaire mumbled, “beautiful.”

 

Enjolras shivered. He wasn't sure what Grantaire's was referring to, but he liked it all the same. The soft mood they had built was quickly destroyed.

 

“What's your boyfriend going to think?”

 

Enjolras jerked his arm away. “He's not my boyfriend.”

 

“Then what is he?” Grantaire asked. The tight feeling had returned, only this time it was like a pot about to boil over. It roiled in his stomach, making him clench his jaw.

 

“It's just sex.” Enjolras shrugged,

 

“Do you love him?”

 

“I'm in love with someone else.” Enjolras said looking at the shattered glass. Tears threatened to spill from his eyes; his lungs weren't functioning. When he could bring himself to look up he found that he was alone. Grantaire had left.

 

-

 

Grantaire was leaning against the shop right next to the Musain. What the fuck just happened? Seeing Enjolras like that...so helpless and forlorn...and Grantaire had to get some air. It didn't help that Enjolras scent had begun to surround them, reminding him of better and easier times. He replayed the entire interaction from entering the cafe to leaving it and couldn't help but wonder if Enjolras had been right. Was he jealous? The feeling was still there, making Grantaire feel ill. He needed to clear his head.

 

Instead he went to the small bookshop across the way and found himself sitting in the overstuffed armchair at the front. He had picked up some book on the fall of Rome, but found he couldn't concentrate. He watched Felix return to the Musain with the brisk walk of a man who knew what he wanted. He saw the older man enter the place, a king returning to his court. He saw Felix make his way to Enjolras who was still standing behind the counter. The blond looked hurt and more than a little bit confused. Guilt stabbed at Grantaire; he shouldn't have left Enjolras alone in there. With him. Felix smirked, leaning too far into Enjolras' place. The waiter looked caught, unable to move away. Felix continued to push his way behind the counter, using his grasp on Enjolras' locks to pull him into a kiss. Grantaire couldn't tell, but it looked angry and possessive. He guessed that Felix had forced his legs between Enjolras' legs based on how the blond reacted. Enjolras' defenses seemed to melt as he allowed himself to be kissed. Felix whispered something to the blond before stepping away with a grin leaving Enjolras alone again.

 

Grantaire looked down at his book, seeing nothing but the words swimming before his eyes. This is why he didn't notice Felix standing right behind him. The only clues he got was the smell of sharp cologne and the feeling that someone was watching him.

 

Grantaire turned, almost jumping out of his skin when he saw the senator behind him.

 

“I saw you watching,” noted Felix.

 

“I-”

 

“It turned me on.”

 

Grantaire swallowed.

 

“It's also why I kissed Enjolras that way. I was marking my territory, making sure he couldn't forget what we have. Care to know what I told him?” Felix spoke like he was talking about the fucking weather.

 

Grantaire's grip on the book tightened.

 

Felix leaned in and whispered. “I told him I would fuck him tonight until he was raw.”

 

Grantaire stood trying to push past Felix, but the older man held his ground.

 

“Are you jealous?” His words were the same as Enjolras', and held such a similar sting. They were intended to cause pain, but the malice was differently rooted. It wasn't one hurting person trying to hurt another, this was the cruelty of a victor kicking the loser.

 

Grantaire brushed by him, leaving Felix laughing behind him.

-

 

Grantaire made his way to the park. He found a bench, far from the well used paths and sat down to think. He figured it would be best to start at the beginning so he went back to the first time he had asked Enjolras out. He followed that trail all the way through high school, and their disastrous break up right before senior year. He remembered crying on Eponine's couch, while she and Bahorel looked on in dismay. He recalled how his last year of high school had been hell. Bahorel and Eponine had tried going after Enjolras, behind his back, but found that Combeferre and Courfeyrac were defending him. He remembered all the listless evenings where Bianca or his parents had tried to distract him, but nothing worked. He had gotten so good at forgetting, so why couldn't he now? He remembered going away to the School of Visual Arts in New York. How being in that city felt like a fresh start. Initially he still felt the pain of his dream of living with Enjolras in a large New York loft, but as time passed the hurt faded. He met Bossuet in New York. His roommate had come to study animation. Although the other man seemed unlucky, his short films were some of the best that Grantaire had ever seen. 

 

Through Bossuet he met Musichetta, another student at SVA. She was his girlfriend, since forever, and had come to study art history. The two of them made quite a pair, until they met Joly at a club. Grantaire had been there. He saw the instant chemistry between the three of them. However Musichetta and Bossuet were committed, and would never dare cheat on the other. For three weeks Grantaire watched them mope, until finally he locked them in his and Bossuet's dorm room and made them talk. He had also left his computer helpfully open with a website about polyamory. That night they called up the little med student and had their first date. The rest was history.

 

Joly easily fell into their group, and although he knew very little about art, he seemed to have a great appreciation for it. He often helped Grantaire with his figures by talking about the bones and muscles which made up the picture. He and Bossuet would make little shorts of a talking skeleton that taught kids about their bones. And Musichetta would drag Joly to new exhibits, where the two of them drank champagne and pretended to be fancier than they were. It was all good fun, and it made forgetting easier.

 

Freshman year, and Grantaire visited home often. He saw his parents and Bianca as much as he could. By sophomore year however there was never the time. He found his family coming to New York to see him, or they all went somewhere together on vacation. He was never home, so he never found out about Enjolras' return. Losing his connection to Montfermeil made forgetting the easiest. Imagining Enjolras flourishing in DC helped Grantaire come to terms that he could never go back to what they were. Neither of them could. It made it easier to forget.

 

-

 

Fast forward to Grantaire's junior showcase. His paintings were mostly of people, as that was his specialty, and he had a whole corner to himself. He was nervous in his black tie apparel, and his friends had yet to show up. He watched as a pretty blonde woman stared intently at each of his paintings before coming to the last one. She wore a slight frown, but her stance was neutral and easy. She cocked her head as she studied the painting. People moved past her, looking but not seeing. Grantaire remembered watching her take a sip of champagne, still staring at the painting.

 

“The composition is all wrong,” she said to the air, then directed her question to him, “don't you think?”

 

“Are you talking to me?”

 

“Certainly. You've been looking at this painting just as long as I have. You must have noticed there was something wrong with it, if not sensed it.” She still hadn't looked at him.

 

“Or perhaps I really liked it,” he quipped glibly.

 

She let out a little laugh. “I had heard such good things about this painter in class. I'm afraid that he's disappointed me.”

 

“Class? Are you a student at SVA?”

 

“Mm. I'm majoring in Visual and Critical Studies. And I can tell you the composition and palette are all wrong.”

 

“And why is that?” Grantaire asked with interest. She was after all critiquing his favorite piece.

 

She hummed, took a sip of champagne and then began. “The artist is clearly depicting a fallen angel, but the lines are all wrong. Instead of the classical composition from the renaissance which uses a triangle to draw the eyes up, the artist has chosen to draw this. The body is bent at quite the wrong angle, his back must surely be broken. And instead of the eye following the painting to the heavenly light, all the lines spiral into the figure. Very egotistical is it not? Now for the colors. They are much too bright for this subject matter. The wings are too stark against the form. That color red is to lurid for this work. And here, the shadows of the muscle are not nearly blended enough. His eyes aren't right either. They don't hold you like they should, and that hair? No one has hair that blond.”

 

“You do, madame,” Grantaire said.

 

The young woman smirked. “Not even my hair is that wild.”

 

Grantaire conceded to her point.

 

“Lucifer should not like,” she paused. “Like Antinous.”

 

“I think you will find this is not a painting of Lucifer. It is rather just an angel who disagreed with Heaven's order, and was therefore cast out.” How prophetic that would turn out to be.

 

The woman frowned. Her eyes flitted over to the small placard beside the work, “I don't remember reading that.”

 

“No. It's not written there.”

 

“Then how do you-”

 

“Because I am the artist.” Grantaire took a moment of pleasure from the look of surprise the young woman gave him.

 

“You're R.”

 

“Grantaire actually, but yes.”

 

“Omigod.” If the next words he was expecting was an apology he didn't get it. “How could you display this? It's terrible.”

 

“I am afraid that I am going to disagree with you there.”

 

“No it is. Honestly your portraits are awful.”

 

Grantaire raised a brow. He should be offended, but instead he was charmed and honestly arguing with her was more fun than he had expected. “Is that so?”

 

“Yes. Take for example this next one here.” The young woman led him to another one of his paintings, this one was of Joly and a skull. “It's all wrong. Hamlet doesn't look like this.”

 

Grantaire chuckled. “He's not Hamlet.”

 

“Well then it's just morbid.”

 

“Perhaps a little.”

 

Or this one, she led him to the painting of himself. “Completely inaccurate. You have made your nose too big. Your brows too thick, your eyes are much prettier in person. And your lips, they look malformed. It's hideous.”

 

“I was smirking.” He had been when he painted it, and now he was again as he spoke to her. He had heard her compliment. She turned about to add more but before she could he asked, “so what is your name? You never really introduced yourself.”

 

She stuck her nose in the air, and what a cute nose it was, noted the artist. “Charla de la Roche. It's been a pleasure.”

 

Grantaire shook the hand offered to him. “Indeed it has Miss de la Roche. What would you say to getting coffee with me? Perhaps you could critique some of my sketches?”

 

She smiled. “I'd like that.”

 

They exchanged numbers.

 

As she left she turned around, glanced over his art once more and pronounced. “You could do wonderful abstracts.”

 

Grantaire watched her go and laughed under his breath. He would never go abstract.

 

-

 

Grantaire thought about dating Charla, about what his friends had thought when they had first met. Charla had been confused by their dynamic, and refused to call Bossuet anything other than Lesgles, his given name. He had told her many times that she was allowed to call him Bossuet or even Laigle...she had politely declined. Grantaire found that when he was with Charla he drank more, but he attributed that to the fact that she loved to party. Not stupid frat parties with kegs and warm beer, or even house parties with slightly better beer. No, she liked going to art openings and wine tastings. Grantaire was fine with that, but to survive he drank. That should have been his first warning. Sometimes they would bring along Musichetta, but it became clear early on that she did not have the same opinions as Charla on the old masters. This caused some contention between the two women, and it soon became clear that they should not talk about art together.

 

One long weekend, Charla decided to fly them down to Myrtle Beach as a surprise. While down there they had one of their biggest fights, causing Grantaire to grab the car keys, slamming the motel door as he left. He clearly remembered driving to a small bar on the waterfront. From there is memory was hazy, he drank and drank and drank. He only stopped when the bartender cut him off. He lied about having a ride and got into his car. What could be the harm?

 

The harm was Alice Spencer. He swerved in the attempt to not hit another car, and didn't happen to notice the girl trying to cross the road. Her body made a sickening thunk deafening compared to the crunch of metal from the car hitting a lamp post. Grantaire clawed at his seat belt, trying to get free of it and the airbags. He stumbled out of the car and made his way to the girl. She seemed so young. He would find out later that she was only seventeen.

 

“Shit shit shit shit shit shit,” he muttered as he tried to dial the police.

 

“911, what's your emergency?”

 

Grantaire tried his best to describe what had happened and give his location. When the ambulance arrived it was determined that he probably had alcohol poisoning and would need his stomach pumped. He blacked out shortly after. Upon waking up the first thing he felt was disappointment, he was alive. Slowly memories returned to him, and with them the worst hangover he had had in a long time. He stood shakily, and went to find the girl. Seeing Alice in a hospital bed a few minutes later was the most sobering image in his life. Her parents were crying at her side, her mother holding her hand.

 

“I'll pay,” he mumbled. They turned to see him at the door. “For all of it. Anything she needs.”

 

Mrs. Spencer looked at her husband. He nodded. She rose and pulled R into a hug. Grantaire tried to pull away. “Thank you.”

 

“No. I hit her in the first place it would be wrong-”

 

“You took responsibility. You didn't just leave her there to die. She's going to be alright, Grantaire. Thank you.”

 

Grantaire began to cry. “I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I- I won't ever drink again. I'll be sober from here on out. I-I'm sorry. I'm really so sorry.”

 

Mrs. Spencer began to rub his back. “Hush, it's okay. You're both alive. Alice is going to be fine. Hush, sweetheart. It's okay.”

 

Even now, remembering seeing Alice in that bed with all the wires and tubes attached made Grantaire tear up. He wiped his eyes and continued to remember. He remembered how supportive his friends had been when he got back to New York. How the Spencers called with weekly updates on their daughter. It turned out that they were from Connecticut and had been visiting family for the weekend, so when she was well enough Alice returned to Connecticut. On the weekends Grantaire would drive to see her. He talked with her, constantly apologizing, and told her about his life in New York. And miraculously she got better. He could never forget that.

 

He continued through his own time line, remembering moving out of the dorms for the last time into his own place. Later he moved in with Charla. He recalled her finding the ring, and the many many brunches they had to go on with her friends. He remembered calling his parents to tell them he was coming home for the first time in years and he was bringing someone special. He thought about their arrival and the announcement. It had all seemed okay then.

 

He easily recollected going to the Musain and finding it really hadn't changed. A perky blonde waitress, no Cosette, seated them and they began to talk about the wedding. Vividly he could remember Enjolras appearing, at first he thought it was a specter from his own past. It wasn't. And it wasn't some horrible nightmare, it was reality.

 

“Good morning, I'm Enjolras and I'll be your server for today. What can I get you to drink?” He remembered catching Enjolras' eyes before the waiter looked to his father clearly ignoring him.

 

“Enjolras, dear, we didn't know you worked here,” His mother said. Grantaire wanted to cringe. He wanted to hide.

 

Grantaire barely heard Enjolras say something about bills when Charla said, “Darling, who is this?”

 

Grantaire's mouth went dry.“Ah, this is Enjolras. An old family friend. Enjolras, meet Charla. My fiancee.”

 

He watched the blond smile, perhaps everything was fine between them. Perhaps they had both forgotten. Perhaps they could move on.

 

Brunch continued as it should.

 

Grantaire reviewed all that had happened and couldn't seem to find the moment he had stopped loving Enjolras. Had there been one? When was it that he consciously stepped away from one blond into the arms of another? Because he must have. He wouldn't be marrying Charla if there wasn't that moment. Was it the spark when they met? Their first date? When they defined the relationship, making it exclusive? Or perhaps the way she comforted him after his accident? When they decided to move in? When she found the ring? Once they told everyone? When they told his parents? When they came home? When Enjolras smiled the first time he saw them? When was it? Grantaire tried to find the moment, the moment when his heart wasn't tied to the man who had been working so hard and been waiting so long. He search and searched and realized perhaps there had been no moment. Perhaps he had just gotten a little too good at burying his feelings.

 

He returned to the beginning and forced himself to look at some of the more unpleasant moments in his life. There was that low day, Grantaire needed comfort he had drunk a little too much and had been alone far to long. He called Charla and she told him to suck it up. The day they fought in Myrtle Beach...she had called him spineless and useless and good for nothing. They had almost broken up...but when Charla found him in the hospital they pretended as if nothing had happened. The next big fight occurred when Grantaire said he was going to pay for all of Alice's expenses. Charla had been livid. Those had been some lean months for them. He thought about all the times he told himself that he wasn't going to do better, and that he should be happy. He thought about all the expensive canvases that wasted doing art he hated for her so they could sell them. She insisted they sold, and they needed the money. Perhaps if he hadn't paid for Alice's bills he could be making his own art? But that wasn't even a train of thought he was willing to consider. As his success in the art world increased, his happiness at home decreased. Charla became more demanding and less sympathetic. They fought more often, she drank more, he went to sleep on Joly's couch. It was a cycle that had only stopped when she found the ring. He had bought it so long ago, had almost forgotten he had hidden it there. If only…

 

If only he had never bought the thing. If only she hadn't found it. If only he had lied. If only. If only. If only. Two little words which were making him miserable. A life spreading ahead of him, with no way out. This wasn't what he wanted.

 

No matter how many ways he reviewed it, all from different angles he found that there was never a moment that he had fallen out of love with Enjolras. How pathetic was that? Perhaps Charla had been his greatest distraction of all. 

 

-

 

It was late when Grantaire finally made it back to the B&B. He was exhausted and at the end of his line. He found Charla sitting in their room reading.

 

“You're home late.”

 

“I know. I've been thinking-”

 

From the parking lot came a nasty snarl. Both Charla and Grantaire made it outside to see what was going on. Other people had had similar ideas, and the balcony was crowded with people. Grantaire and Charla made their way to the stairs to get a better vantage point.

 

“You little prick tease!” Grantaire was disgusted to find that it was Felix yelling this. He watched as Felix pushed Enjolras to the ground. “God you're so stupid.”

 

Grantaire made his way down the stairs, his heart the only thing faster than his feet. He pulled Felix away from Enjolras before landing a punch on his jaw. “Say that again and I will end you.”

 

Felix spat at Grantaire's feet. “This is none of your business. Enjolras, get back inside.”

 

To Grantaire's dismay he watched Enjolras scurry back into the motel room.

 

Felix turned to the crowd. “Sorry for the display. We are practicing a little act from a friend's screenplay. I just didn't intend to actually be punched.”

 

The crowd laughed with him before slowly dispersing. Felix gave him one more look before going back to Enjolras. Grantaire tightened his fist before storming back to where Charla was waiting. She looked shocked. He pushed past her like he didn't see her.

 

“Where are you going?” she asked following him to their room.

 

“Out.”

 

“Hey.” He continued to pack a small bag. “Hey. Listen to me.”

 

He turned, adrenaline was still coursing through his veins, he needed to hit something. “What.”

 

She marched over to him and slapped him on the cheek. “That was for punching the senator.”

 

She then proceeded to ignore him as he left. Grantaire made it to his car, giving a dirty look to the door that enclosed Enjolras and Felix. He drove not knowing where he was headed. He found himself at Eponine's.

 

He knocked on the door. It was opened by the woman herself. She took one look at him before letting him in.

 

“Can I sleep on your couch? Just for tonight I promise.”

 

She smiled. “Come on sad sack. Let's get you some food.”

 

He let himself be led into the house. Gavroche was at the table finishing what looked like stove top mac and cheese. Grantaire served himself some before joining Eponine and her brother at the table.

 

“Want to talk about what happened?” asked Eponine.

 

“Not especially.”

 

She nodded. “Alright.”

 

Gavorche left claiming he had 'a shit ton of homework and not enough hours'. The two adults watched him go with fond smiles. Unanimously they made their way to the couch and turned on some television to fill the silence.

 

“Eponine?” Grantaire started softly. “I think I've made a really big mistake.”

 

Slowly and methodically Grantaire explained the conclusions he had come to this afternoon. She sat and listened, not saying anything until he was done.

 

“So you love Enjolras.”

 

“Yes.”

 

“The email-”

 

“God enough with the email. I know it's stupid of me to still love a guy who rejected me through an email. Trust me I know how pathetic I am,” Grantaire reiterated.

 

Eponine winced. “That's not what I was...never mind. Forget I even brought it up.”

 

After all it was not her secret, and it would mean more coming from Enjolras himself. “So what are you gonna do about this wedding?”

 

Grantaire ran his hands through his hair. “Hell if I know.”

 

“Call it off.”

 

“I know, but I don't know if I can-”

 

“Call it off.” reiterated Eponine.

 

Grantaire nodded. What other choice could there be?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the later update than usual. This chapter was actually very difficult for me to write. It marks one of the major turning points of the story and I needed to get it right. Other notes:  
> \- I knew Enj was gonna get a tattoo for a long time. And the week I was writing this just happened to be the same week I got my first tattoo. Funny how the universe works like that  
> -SVA is a real school in New York  
> -I know Bossuet is supposed to be a lawyer, but for this AU he's an animator  
> -Grantaire's painting is obviously Enjolras  
> -The prophetic nature of it is basically the way people believe he got kicked out of DC for his beliefs...and then the fact that he actually was forced to leave.   
> -This is a major turning point for R. Expect a lot more double sided pining from here on out  
> Thank you so so much for the continued support! I love replying to your comments, and thank you to everyone who just gave me a kudos! I hope to have the next chapter up next weekend, but I'm not sure. Thank you again for everything, and please leave a comment. (Questions, concerns, compliments, critiques -all are welcome) Much love, ~T.W.o.W.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: mentions of physical and emotional abuse

Grantaire returned to the B&B exhausted. He had talked with Eponine for hours, just venting all the confusion he had felt, before falling into an uneasy sleep. He knew what needed to be done, but he was hesitant to bring it up. So instead he stayed quiet. If Charla noticed that he was avoiding her, she didn't say anything. However the peace only lasted three hours.

 

Out of the blue Charla announced. “I think you should go apologize.”

 

“What?” Grantaire asked looking up from his book.

 

“To the senator. I think you owe him an apology for punching him.”

 

“Charla, he shoved Enjolras to the ground.” Grantaire stated.

 

“It was for a play.”

 

“You don't believe that.” he gritted out. Charla glared at him, she opened her mouth to make some clever retort, but Grantaire was faster. “Why are you defending an abuser?”

 

“You shouldn't have gotten involved. What the senator does behind closed doors-”

 

“It was in the fucking parking lot, Charla. Not exactly behind closed doors-”

 

“Do not raise your voice at me,” Charla retorted sharply. “And are we not going to talk about how you left me? You. You're the one who walked out, _R_.”

 

Grantaire flinched. “I am sorry for that.”

 

“You should be,” Charla agreed. “And secondly you were gone all day. What has gotten into you?”

 

“I've been thinking a lot. About us. About this wedding.”

 

“And?” Charla raised a brow expectantly.

 

“And I think we should call it off.”

 

Charla looked at him for a moment, before throwing her head back to laugh. Whatever response Grantaire had been expecting this was not it. “Oh, babe.” Her voice dripping with pity.

 

“Charla, I'm serious.” Grantaire said with a frown.

 

She chuckled again before going over to him. “It's just the pre-wedding nerves, babe. Nothing to sneeze at.”

 

Grantaire sighed. “No. I don't think it is.”

 

“What has gotten into you?” Charla asked pulling away. Her good humor was fading rapidly.

 

“I think I'm in love with someone else,” Grantaire confessed.

 

“Have you been cheating on me?”

 

“What?”

 

“You heard me.” Charla challenged. “Have you been seeing another woman behind my back? Or heaven forbid, a man?”

 

Grantaire shook his head. “Of course not.”

 

“Then what is this? You didn't date seriously in college before we met. You had a handful of flings, but you promised me that those were in the past...” Charla froze. “Is this about the waiter.”

 

Grantaire looked down at the book in his hands. “Enjolras. And yeah. It is.”

 

Charla let out another raucous laugh. “Oh, babe. You and him have been over for years. Don't tell me that seeing him again has brought back feelings.”

 

“I-”

 

She laughed. “No. This is just pre-wedding nerves. Whatever conclusions you think you've come to are wrong. It's all in your head, babe. None of it founded in fact.”

 

Grantaire sunk further into his seat, his shoulders around his ears, expression low. 

 

“You need some time to work through this,” Charla sighed coming to crouch in front of him. “Okay, hear me out. I'm giving you until Saturday, when the bridal part comes, to figure this out. After that we will have no more discussions about calling off the wedding or Enjolras. Do you hear me? No one can know what a coward you are. You've got two days to work this out.” Charla decided matter-of-factually.

 

“Charla, it's not that simple. I don't think this is something I can just work through.”

 

“Of course you can.” Charla rose with her most charming smile. “By Saturday you will have resolved any of your doubts, and this wedding will proceed.”

 

“Charla-”

 

“After all our careers are dependent on the networking that our wedding will provide.”

 

Grantaire watched her walk away, his face collapsing. She made plans to go see Eponine, and that was that. If Grantaire felt like shit earlier, it was nothing compared to now.

 

-

 

Again he tried to explain that he couldn't marry her, but she simply said that it was the cold feet talking and ignored him. She said he needed time and space to think, so that's what she would give him. She kissed him goodbye before going out on some errands. He then tried calling Eponine, but it went straight to voice mail.

 

-

 

Eponine was kept busy with Charla who insisted they go to the closest and biggest department stores to register for wedding gifts.

 

“Shouldn't you be doing this with R?” Eponine asked as Charla drove.

 

“He needs his space right now.” The blonde replied.

 

“What kind of space?” inquired Eponine skeptically.

 

“He's got some issues to work through. I've given him until the rest of the bridal party arrives on Saturday to get it sorted.”

 

“Is that really the-”

 

“Which reminds me, I've told the bridesmaids that they will be staying with you.” Charla looked at Eponine with a smile.

 

“Wait. What?”

 

“Well they can't stay at your parents'. All the rooms have already been booked by out of town guests,” Charla said sweetly. “Plus I noticed your home has plenty of spare rooms.”

 

“Not enough for all of them,” protested Eponine.

 

“Well I figured you could send your brother off somewhere, so that frees up another room. And you can sleep on the couch. That will be six bedrooms.” explained Charla.

 

“Can't some of them share?” Eponine asked.

 

Charla let out a dissonant snort. “Oh, honey. No. Cynthia can't stand either of the Katherines. Lousiette and Mary-Lynn would murder each other in their sleep. Dianne can't stand Katherine with a K. And Mary-Lynn hates Dianne. Neither of the Katherines like Louisette, and Louisette stole Dianne and Cynthia's boyfriends. And let's be honest, Mary-Lynn and Dianne are jealous of Cynthia's looks and would probably give her an unasked for makeover And Cynthia detests them both, only they don't know that. Catherine with a C would be raped by Mary-Lynn, truth be told, she's just her type. Only if Mary-Lynn did that, then Katherine with a K would want in, and that wouldn't happen. And Catherine with a C only likes the other Katherine but refuses to sleep in the same room. So as you can see-”

 

“Yes. I see.”

 

“You'll take the couch then?” Charla asked with a smile.

 

Eponine paused.

 

“Or I'm sure Mary-Lynn would be fine sharing with you. She has asked me if you're single,” hinted Charla with a smile.

 

“I'll take the couch.” Eponine resigned.

 

“Good. Also get rid of that pervy brother of yours. I don't want him hitting on my friends.”

 

Eponine bit the inside of her cheek. “Gav would never do that.”

 

“He's what, 14? 14 year old boys are disgusting. Get him out of the house.” Charla said not taking her eyes off the road.

 

“Fine. I'll take him to a friend's.”

 

Charla beamed. “I knew you would be a wonderful maid of honor. Now let's go shopping.”

 

Eponine followed Charla into Macy's. The bride-to-be led the way to the wedding department. After talking to a sale's associate and setting up an account they were good to go.

 

“This Waterford stemware is gorgeous,” Charla noted scanning the entire set of glasses. She moved on to the next table where she sighed, “and look at this. Waterford Crystal gifts. I need all of them.”

 

Eponine watched her scan two candle holders, a pitcher, several tumblers and a clock. She scanned another set of Waterford Toasting Flutes as well as an assortment of items from Kate Spade's New York Avenue collection.

 

Next they drove to Bed Bath and Beyond where Eponine saw the list grow. Charla was like a kid in a candy store adding item after item to her registry. Eagerly she scanned some of the finest Lennox dishes as well as fancy coffee makers, plush towels, an expensive knife set, and a case of fine silverware.

 

“Can your guests really afford some of this stuff?” Eponine asked.

 

“Of course they can,” gloated Charla.

 

“Really?” Eponine was of course thinking about all of R's artist friends, and hometown acquaintances. Most of them were like her, unable to walk into a Macy's without several eyebrows being raised.

 

Charla laughed. “Well they don't have to get us nice things. They can be lame and just get us salad tossers.”

 

Eponine frowned. “I see. You know Grantaire's friends will try to get him the best, killing their credit score if they have to.”

 

“How is that my problem? They can spend whatever they feel comfortable spending.” Charla observed.

 

Eponine resigned, she supposed that Charla did have a point.She continued to follow Charla around. They were in the store for hours; Eponine's feet were killing her. Finally Charla announced she was ready to go home. She dropped Eponine off at her house before going to the B&B. To Charla's dismay the place was empty.

 

-

 

Grantaire had left hours ago to go think. He had considered what Charla had said, that maybe this was just wedding jitters, but he also knew what he felt for Enjolras. What he had with the blond had felt real, and being so close to the other man had reminded him of what they had had. Coming home had already taught him so much. It was, after all, Enjolras who reminded him that art could exist for the sake of itself and not for a profit. Seeing him curled up in Jeanne's arms had reminded Grantaire that Enjolras was not the same boy that had left him in an email. He had grown up and felt his own share of heartbreak. R shook his head. Things were becoming muddled again.

 

“Grantaire? Is everything alright?”

 

R looked up from his seat to see Cosette looking down on him with concern. He had wandered into the Musain, knowing that Enjolras wouldn't be there for awhile. He found the sounds and smells comforting and it was a good place to think.

 

“No actually. It's not.”

 

“Oh. Oh! I'm so sorry,” Cosette said as Grantaire's words hit her. “Do you need someone to talk to?”

 

Grantaire nodded. “That might be helpful actually.”

 

“Do you still have my father's card?”

 

“Huh?”

 

“My father? He does this for a living.”

 

“Oh. Right. Um yeah I think I have it.” R mumbled.

 

Cosette looked at him with pity. “You really should go see him, Grantaire.”

 

“Charla would kill me if we went to-”

 

“Forget her. Go for yourself.” Cosette began to move away, after all she was at work.

 

Grantaire nodded his thanks. Once she was gone he fished out his wallet and found Valjean's card. It was crumpled at the edges, but he could still read what it said. _Beekeeper/marriage counselor_. And below it was a number. Hesitantly he dialed it.

 

“Jean Valjean, what can I help you with?” a deep voice said answering the phone.

 

“Hi. Um I was wondering if I could schedule an appointment with you? Just to sort of talk things through? I don't know I've never really done this before,” Grantaire confessed.

 

There was a warm chuckle on the other end. “Not a problem. I'm afraid I didn't catch your name.”

 

“Oh. Right. Sorry. I'm Grantaire.”

 

“Right, not a problem. So Grantaire, when would you like to come see me? I've got an appointment early tomorrow morning.” Valjean said scratching something down on a pad of paper.

 

Grantaire replied. “That would be great. What time?”

 

“8:30,” suggested the counselor.

 

“Great.”

 

“I'm at 55 Plumet Street, just before the turn off to Bienvenu Cottage?” Valjean added.

 

“I know where you're talking about,” Grantaire assured him. “Thank you, sir.”

 

Valjean replied. “But of course. It is after all my second profession.”

 

“Second?”

 

“My bees come first,” confided Valjean.

 

Grantaire wasn't entirely sure if that was comforting or not. Either way he promised Valjean that he would see him in the morning. Grantaire paid for his coffee, leaving a tip on the table, and stood to go.

 

“Grantaire?” Unsure, scared.

 

He looked up to see Enjolras in the door. His first thought was he had been there longer than he planned if Enjolras was coming in for his shift. His second thought was noticing how bad Enjolras looked. The other man was favoring his right side and his breathing was shallow. On his cheek there was a bruise which had not been there last night.

 

“Fuck. Enjolras. Did he do this to you?” Grantaire rushed over to his ex pulling him aside.

 

Miserably Enjolras shook his head. Lamely he added, “I fell.”

 

Grantaire gave him a stern look. “You did not fall.”

 

Enjolras looked at his feet.

 

Gently Grantaire lifted his chin so that he was staring into Enjolras' eyes. “What really happened?”

 

“Thank you.”

 

“What?”

 

“For defending me. Thank you,” Enjolras said pulling away. Grantaire watched him and his heart broke.

 

-

 

In the back room Enjolras collapsed against the lockers sobbing.

 

“Enjolras?” Cosette asked following him in. When she saw his face she gasped. “Sweetheart. Are you alright?”

 

Weakly he shook his head.

 

“I'm calling Courf. You are going home,” Cosette ordered.

 

“But-”

 

“No. You need the day off. It was silly of you to even come in this state,” Cosette admonished him gently.

 

“I know,” whimpered Enjolras as Cosette helped him to the bench. “I just needed to get away...I needed a distraction.” 

 

“Who did this to you?” asked Cosette softly.

 

Instead of answering Enjolras buried his head in the crook of her neck. The smell of her shampoo surrounding him. It was a comforting smell; Enjolras could see why Marius was so infatuated with it...with her. He began to cry.

 

“Alright, Enjolras. It will be alright.” She promised him while rubbing small circles in his back. Using her other hand she dialed up Courfeyrac. “Hey. I need you to come get Enjolras. It's pretty serious.”

 

Ten minutes later Courfeyrac had pulled up out back in his car. Cosette woke Enjolras up, before helping him outside. In the car he easily fell asleep again. Cosette kissed his forehead once he was settled.

 

Courfeyrac's eyes were wide as he looked at his friend. “What happened to him?”

 

His concern was mirrored on Cosette's face. “You mean you don't know either?”

 

“He didn't come home last night or this morning. He's been spending more and more time at that damned B&B,” sighed Courfeyrac.

 

“It must be the new beau then.”

 

Courfeyrac nodded grimly. “He hasn't been treating Enjolras right for a long time now.”

 

Cosette's heart broke. “He needs to get out.”

 

“It may not be that simple,” Courfeyrac said, hating the reality of it.

 

“Take care of him?”

 

“Of course.”

 

“You better call the bar. I think he had a shift tonight.” Cosette added.

 

Courfeyrac nodded before driving away. “Oh, Enj. What have you gotten yourself into this time?”

 

-

 

Courfeyrac struggled to carry Enjolras up the stairs to their apartment, but he managed. Afraid that Felix might drop by again, he called every one of Enjolras' friends inviting them over for a movie night.

 

By seven o'clock Marius and Combeferre arrived. Half an hour later, Jehan, Feuilly, Bahorel and Cosette came. Eponine arrived last.

 

“What are you doing here?” Courfeyrac asked.

 

“I invited her,” Bahorel cut in. “Figured if we're protecting Enjolras we should have the toughest person I know.”

 

Courfeyrac relaxed. “Sorry, Eponine. That was rude. I just- I just have been so worried about Enjolras. I guess I lost my cool.”

 

Eponine rolled her eyes. “Whatever nerd. It'll be nice to relax with friends after a day spent with Bridezilla.”

 

There was a moment of silence which was only broken by Cosette.

 

“We're glad you're here Ep.”

 

The young waitress led her friend over to the couch where Feuilly and Bahorel were sitting. Marius brought over popcorn, and any awkwardness was soon forgotten. They began watching movies, and just as Courfeyrac suspected, at ten o'clock there was a knock at the door. Cosette tensed and Marius grabbed for her hand as Courfeyrac and Feuilly went to go answer it.

 

“Felix,” Courfeyrac said coolly.

 

“Where's Enjolras?”

 

“Resting.” Feuilly shot back.

 

Felix frowned. “I need to see him.”

 

“Nice shiner. Where'd you get it?” Courfeyrac asked, praying that Enjolras hadn't done anything stupid but also hoping he had gotten in a punch or two.

 

“Some loser at the B&B trying to play the white knight.” Felix chuckled. “Now where is my angel?”

 

“Just let him be, mate,” Feuilly sighed.

 

Felix glared at the other man. “Don't call me mate, mate. And I believe I have already let him stay with friends when we had an important reservation. Tonight he is mine.”

 

“I'm afraid that's not going to happen,” Combeferre said coming to stand by Feuilly and Courfeyrac at the door. “You'll have to go through the three of us.”

 

“Four.” Bahorel added cracking his knuckles while looming behind Courf.

 

“Five,” Jehan said coming to stand with his friends. Eponine raised a brow, silently challenging the older man to try anything. From her stance it was clear she was ready to fight.

 

“Us too.” Cosette announced joining the others, Marius by her side.

 

Felix seemed to stare at Cosette for a moment, as if trying to place a face from his past. However under his gaze she didn't shrink, she seemed to grow. Cosette calmly stared back at him, daring the older man to speak. Felix glared at the others before turning to leave. The door shut, and everyone breathed a sigh of relief.

 

“You'd do that? Fight him for me?”

 

They all whipped around to see Enjolras leaning against the door frame of his room. He was still in his work clothes which were wrinkled as he had clearly slept in them. His hair was a mess and he still looked in pain, but there was something else too. He looked touched.

 

“Enjolras, we would fight the whole world for you,” Combeferre assured him.

 

Enjolras just stood there, tears filling his eyes. “I… I don't know what to say.”

 

“The great orator has been rendered speechless,” teased Bahorel.

 

“How about we watch the rest of the movie,” suggested Courfeyrac. “Come on Enj, what do you say? Want to see the rest of Zootopia with us? We just started it.”

 

Enjolras smiled. He nodded and was welcomed into the cuddle puddle that was happening in his living room. He was surrounded by his friends; to his left was Eponine, Cosette, and Marius, and to his right Courfeyrac. Combeferre was leaning against his knees with Jehan lying in his lap. Bahorel and Feuilly were curled up in the armchair together, devouring a bowl of popcorn.

 

By the time the movie was over, most of his friends were dozing lightly.

 

“Enjolras?” Cosette said softly.

 

“Hm?”

 

“Promise me you'll stay away from that guy.”

 

“Huh?”

 

“He gives me a bad feeling, Enjolras. I don't trust him.” confided Cosette.

 

“I wish it were that simple,” Enjolras sighed.

 

Cosette grabbed his hand. “You deserve better than that monster. Remember that. You deserve the world, Enj.”

 

Enjolras couldn't speak. Instead he just nodded. He kissed Cosette on the head as a way to thank her. And maybe he didn't need words, not tonight at least, because she understood him perfectly.

 

Enjolras looked over to see Eponine frowning. “What is it?”

 

“I know what physical abuse looks like, Enjolras.” She started slowly. “I know it just starts out as one slap, one shove. You promise yourself it's just the one time, that it won't happen again, that they don't mean it. I've seen it, Enjolras. I've lived it. And I understand that the promises you make to yourself are lies. It will keep happening until you leave. It won't stop. Abusers will keep hurting you until you're gone. I understand how they think. You have to get out.”

 

Cosette just stared at Eponine sadly. Enjolras looked down at his sleeping friends. Softly he murmured. “I don't think I can.”

 

Eponine nodded. She understood that too.

 

-

 

The next morning, Grantaire drove up to 55 Plumet Street nice and early. The property was large, with expansive grounds and well kept flowers. He couldn't help but be reminded of his mother's own garden. He was greeted at the door by an older man who appeared to be in his early fifties.

 

“You must be Grantaire,” the older man said shaking his hand. “I am M. Valjean.”

 

“It's a pleasure to meet you.”

 

“Come, let's go to my study.”

 

Grantaire had expected to be invited in, but instead Valjean merely closed the front door before setting a brisk pace to the backyard. The green space was overflowing with flowers of all variety, and if Grantaire was silent he could hear the hum of bees. Within the walled garden there appeared to be an elegant greenhouse. The base was made of old stone, but about a quarter of the way up the stone was replaced with glass windows and a glass roof. Sunlight poured throughout the structure.

 

“In the warmer months I like to hold my sessions out here,” explained Valjean. “It's such a nice change from my office.”

 

Grantaire nodded. He was a bit overwhelmed seeing how beautiful Valjean's gardens were. The previous ones in the front of the house were nothing compared to those in the walled backyard. Grantaire said as much.

 

Valjean smiled. “I wouldn't put so much effort into my garden if it weren't for my bees.”

 

Of course. Grantaire should have figured. “My mother would love to see your garden. I'm sure she would have plenty of questions for you.”

 

“She would be welcome anytime.” Valjean led the way into the greenhouse. Among all the plants was some wicker furniture and a table with a notepad. “However it is not my garden that you have come to talk to me about. Is it?”

 

Grantaire headed to the couch and took a seat. “No. It's rather more unpleasant than that.”

 

Valjean nodded. “I suppose we should start with the facts. Tell me about your fiancee.”

 

“I have known Charla since junior year of college. She was so cultured and gorgeous. I just felt so lucky that she was even interested in me,” explained Grantaire. He laughed. “She's always worn the pants in our relationship, but I was fine with that. I've never been one for knowing what I want.”

 

Valjean gave him a look. “Is that true? Or is that something you have made yourself believe in order to be happy?”

 

Grantaire swallowed. “I guess that's part of the problem. I don't really know.”

 

“What do you mean by that?”

 

“I don't really know who I am, what's me and what's a coping mechanism.”

 

“Ah. You said coping mechanism, so this relationship isn't fulfilling something for you? Is that why you feel the need to find coping mechanisms?” asked Valjean taking careful notes.

 

“I don't think it's that. Charla is great. She pushes me, but sometimes I feel like she doesn't understand me… that she isn't satisfied with who I am, and that she can fix me.”

 

“It is very common for women to feel the need to change the men they are with,” observed Valjean. “However human nature is a very hard thing to change.”

 

“I don't know if I can change the way she wants.”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

Grantaire let out a great sigh. “I'm bisexual. And to Charla that means I will cheat on her with either gender. She wants me to promise that after the wedding I won't cheat on her.”

 

“Would you?” Valjean asked earnestly.

 

“I believe in monogamy. I mean there is nothing wrong with polyamory, but that just isn't the lifestyle for me. Just because I feel attraction to more than one gender, it doesn't make it any more likely to cheat. Also I could never cheat on someone. I've seen how horrible it is, and I couldn't do that to anyone.” Grantaire replied honestly.

 

Valjean smiled kindly. “Is there anything else that you do not feel you can change?”

 

“I suffer from depression and occasional self destructive tendencies. It's a constant battle, and I've been doing pretty well recently. But I know Charla would prefer it if I was mentally well. She supports me of course, but sometimes I feel that she resents me for it...maybe it's just paranoia or anxiety,” Grantaire quickly dismissed.

 

Valjean frowned. “Those are valid feelings, Grantaire, and should not be easily disregarded.”

 

“Speaking of feelings, the real reason I've come to you is because I don't think I am in love with Charla.” Grantaire said, and immediately felt guilty for saying such a thing.

 

“Ah. Now that is a bit more complicated. Why don't you tell me about it.” Valjean wrote something on his legal pad before looking R in the eyes.

 

“I don't remember being in love with her, which is strange. I must have been at one point, but it feels so long ago. But since we came here, I've been reminded of someone who I used to love. I would have done anything for him, hell I probably still would as pathetic as that sounds. But there's just something about him that inspires people to do that. I mean not do things for him, well maybe, but he gets people behind him in a way I've never seen. Anyway I've been talking with him, and I can't help but be attracted to him, even though he broke my heart when we were younger. Talk about self destructive tendencies.” Grantaire laughed bitterly.

 

“Did you know that a couple only feels love for about a year?” Valjean asked.

 

“What?”

 

“Couples that last learn that it is not being in love that keeps them together, rather it is the act of being loving.” Valjean continued.

 

“I'm afraid I don't- Your daughter told me this once, but I didn't entirely understand,” Grantaire stuttered.

 

Valjean smiled kindly as he explained. “The chemicals in our brains that tell us we are in love fade rather early on. So for couples who have been together a whole lifetime, well what keeps them together? It certainly isn't the chemicals, so what is it? To be honest there are a lot of variables, but one of the most important ones is the choice to treat your partner with love and respect even if you are fighting. For example I know a couple where one woman would make her wife coffee every morning. And the most important days that she made coffee were while they were having their biggest fights. There is nothing wrong with conflict in a relationship, Grantaire. It is how you treat the person during that conflict which matters.”

 

“What does that have to do with-”

 

“How does Charla treat you when you are disagreeing?” Valjean asked carefully.

 

Grantaire opened his mouth only to close it again.

 

“You two have been together for awhile now, what is it about three years?” Valjean questioned. Grantaire nodded. He continued, “So the oxytocin has vanished, so why are you together? Is it that you are devoted to one another? Or has there been some manipulation to ensure your relationship lasts?”

 

“I honestly don't know,” croaked Grantaire.

 

“These feelings you have for this other man could just be fleeting,” reminded Valjean.

 

Grantaire shook his head. “I don't think so. I've never really forgotten him.”

 

“Have you spoken with him about your feelings?”

 

“I couldn't. He already has so much on his plate, and the senator-”

 

Valjean's posture shifted suddenly becoming tense and hyperaware. “Senator?”

 

“Senator Tholomyes has taken an interest in him,” scoffed Grantaire.

 

“Senator Tholomyes is in town?” Valjean sounded shaken.

 

“Do you know him?”

 

“I've got to get Cosette. I'm afraid that we will need to cut our session short-”

 

“Wait, sir. How do you know him? Is he a threat to Enjolras?” asked Grantaire following Valjean out of the greenhouse.

 

“He's a manipulative bastard.”

 

“Sir-”

 

“He's Cosette's father.”

 

Grantaire froze. “What?”

 

“He had her out of wedlock when he was in college. He forced the mother to give up the baby since his career in politics was just about to start. I found Cosette on my doorstep with a note. I never heard from Fantine, the baby's mother again. Ever since then I have kept Cosette away from him. Several times reporters would start digging up Tholomyes past again, so I took Cosette out of the country. That man will make her life miserable just for his own political gain. Recently some contacts of mine said he was sniffing around England looking for her, since the reporters were trying to get dirt on him. I moved her here. I thought she would be safe.” Valjean pushed his way out of the gate and began walking towards the center of town. Grantaire ran to catch up.

 

“What happened to her mother?”

 

“I found out later that she had died.” Valjean sighed. “Cosette never had a chance to meet her.”

 

“That's horrible.”

 

“Felix Tholomyes ruined Fantine's life. That's why I can't let him find Cosette here.” Valjean growled.

 

“Wait. What is he doing with Enjolras then?”

 

“My guess? Felix Tholomyes has always liked to have fun. He doesn't care who he hurts, or what happens after he leaves, so long as he gets what he wants.” Valjean responded.

 

Grantaire nodded. “I understand. You need to go find Cosette.”

 

“She should be at the Musain.”

 

Grantaire blanched. “Enjolras is working there today, and Tholomyes has been recently been staying closer to Enj.”

 

Valjean's pace quickened, and Grantaire had to run to keep up with his strides. They arrived at the cafe minutes later, both out of breath. Working at the counter was Enjolras, and he had an admirer. Valjean tensed, eyes scanning the small establishment for his daughter. She was no where to be found. Grantaire made his way over to the senator.

 

“Senator,” he addressed loudly. Felix turned, a frown settling on his face.

 

“What do you want?”

 

“I was wondering if I could consult my friend here, in private-”

 

“As if I would trust you with him alone,” sneered Felix.

 

Enjolras watched nervously awaiting the outcome.

 

“Mm thanks, but that wasn't really a request.” sassed Grantaire. He took Enjolras by the elbow and led him back into the kitchens. “Where's Cosette?”

 

“Huh? Why are you whispering?” asked Enjolras.

 

“I said where is Cosette? We need to get her out of here.” Grantaire muttered.

 

“Why?”

 

“That man has come into his town looking for his-”

 

“Daughter I know.” Enjolras pulled away. “R, what aren't you telling me?”

 

“Cosette is his daughter.”

 

Several emotions flashed across Enjolras' face: disbelief, horror, disgust, before going blank. “He told me her name was Euphrasie.”

 

“It is.” Cosette said stepping out of the chaos of the kitchen. “That's what my mother put on the birth certificate, but um… before the ink dried she had started calling me Cosette. Silly really.”

 

“You need to go.” Grantaire warned her.

 

Cosette smiled sadly. “I thought I recognized him last night. I was so scared he would call me out… Marius has got a car waiting in the back. Tell my father I'm sorry, and I'll see him soon?”

 

Grantaire nodded. The two men watched her go.

 

“What do I tell him?” asked Enjolras.

 

“Lie. Say anything but the truth.”

 

Enjolras looked sick.

 

“Or will he hit you again?” Grantaire asked somberly. “Enjolras. Is he hurting you?”

 

“I deserve it.”

 

“No, never.”

 

Tears pooled in Enjolras' eyes. “I do though. I wasn't strong enough to resist him, to tell him no. I deserve it.”

 

Grantaire pulled Enjolras into a tight hug. He wrapped one arm around Enjolras' waist, the other curling around his shoulder. He held Enjolras' head by his, hand firm in the blond's curls. Fiercely he promised. “You don't deserve his treatment. You don't deserve anything he says you do. Enjolras you were born to be loved.”

 

Enjolras buried his head into Grantaire's shoulder and breathed him in. “You don't need to accept her treatment of you.”

 

Grantaire pulled away, even though every bone in Enjolras' body was begging him to stay. “What?”

 

“Charla.”

 

“You should be with someone who loves you.”

 

“She does.”

 

Enjolras shook his head. “I know what loving you looks like, Grantaire.”

 

Grantaire stared at Enjolras unsure what to do with that information. “I um. I should go tell Valjean his daughter is safe. Well as safe as she can be with a coworker.”

 

“She's in good hands with Pontmercy...I should go back to Felix. He's waiting.” Enjolras shrugged awkwardly.

 

Grantaire frowned. “Remember what I said?”

 

“I will.” Enjolras promised. “And Grantaire?”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“That email…it was never – I still,” Enjolras stopped. He looked younger than Grantaire had ever seen him. “Never mind. Forget it.”

 

Grantaire nodded uncertainly before lumbering off to find Valjean.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry for the late update! One weekend I was busy with friends, and as I began this I realized everything I wrote was shit. And then it just got harder and harder to write this chapter. I spent a lot time trying to get it right which is why it's so late. Ahhh I'm sorry. I will be leaving for college soon, so updates will be scarcer however I hope to get two more chapters in before I go. Then I may or may not take a mini hiatus. But never fear I am going to finish this story. So please, leave a comment. It will really help me with timely updates. Lots of love and appreciation ~T.W.o.W.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: mentions of physical and verbal abuse

Enjolras watched Grantaire leave. He didn't think it would hurt as much as it did, watching Grantaire walk away from him again, but it did. It always did. He took a shaky breath and returned to the counter.

 

“Everything okay?” Felix demanded calmly.

 

Enjolras scanned the cafe, however Grantaire and Valjean had already vanished. “What?”

 

“I said is everything okay?” Felix repeated grabbing his arm.

 

“Um...yeah. Just some wedding stuff, needed to talk to the baker,” Enjolras murmured not meeting his eyes. He began to pull away; Felix let him.

 

The older man nodded as he stood to go, “see you tonight?”

 

“Actually I have my meeting. It could go really late,” Enjolras reminded him softly.

 

“That will be the third time you've skipped a date for those friends of yours. And you know what they say about three strikes,” Felix teased.

 

“And you're out?” Enjolras asked knowing he couldn't be that lucky.

 

Felix chuckled. “Not exactly. Let's just say you will be writing a check your ass can't pay. But we'll find a way.”

 

Enjolras swallowed. “I'll cancel.”

 

Felix smirked. “Are you just saying that? Because I'd hate to think what could happen to that poor mother of yours if-”

 

“I said I'd cancel.” gritted Enjolras.

 

Felix smiled. “Good boy.”

 

Enjolras watched him go feeling sick. He began to text his friends telling them that he would be unable to make it to the meeting.

 

-

 

Grantaire had left the cafe with Valjean.

 

“I'm sorry about our appointment,” Valjean apologized.

 

“Oh right! I still need to pay you,” Grantaire said reaching for his wallet.

 

Valjean laughed. “No please. We didn't finish. I couldn't take your money without completing the session.”

 

“Oh, of course. Well-”

 

“I'm afraid I need to make some calls this afternoon. I need to know that Cosette is safe.” expressed Valjean with regret.

 

“Of course. I completely understand,” Grantaire assured him.

 

“Perhaps this evening?” suggested Valjean.

 

Grantaire nodded. “That would be best. I need to figure this all out before tomorrow.”

 

“Young man, there isn't an easy fix for this. It will take time, and you must give it patience-”

 

“I don't have time. The bridal party is coming this weekend. I can't afford to humiliate-”

 

“We'll talk this evening,” Valjean promised.

 

“Oh. Of course.” Grantaire nodded. “I hope your daughter is okay.”

 

“Me too.” Valjean murmured. “I only pray that boy knows what he's doing.”

 

They continued the rest of the walk in silence.

-

 

Grantaire entered his room at the B&B after seeing Valjean to his home. He saw Charla's bag on the chair, but she was no where in sight. “Charla? Charla, we need to talk.”

 

From the bathroom he heard the most wretched sound. It was a pathetic moaning, low like an animal in pain.

 

Cautiously he approached the door, concern coloring his tone. “Charla?”

 

Grantaire pushed the door open to find the young woman collapsed in front of the toilet. Her hair was lank; her face pale. Miserably she looked up at him. “I'm pregnant.”

 

Grantaire's world stopped.

 

“Grantaire, did you hear me? I'm pregnant.”

 

“I heard...are you sure?”

 

She nodded slowly. “I-I was feeling off all day. I went to the drug store and...”

 

She held out a small plastic stick before throwing up again in the toilet. Grantaire took it from her and just stared as his whole world rearranged itself to accept this reality. Softly, “when?”

 

“That morning we made love after we got the Halls for our reception,” moaned Charla wiping her mouth. “It must have been.”

 

“But you said you weren't fertile-”

 

“I wasn't supposed to be,” whined Charla. “No. It's fine. I'll just get an abortion and-”

 

“No.” Grantaire said hastily. “No you can't.”

 

“You were thinking of leaving me, I can't be expected to take care of a child without you. That's too much to ask.” Charla replied tears in her eyes.

 

“I'll stay.”

 

“You will?” She looked up at him, hope in her eyes.

 

“I've done some thinking and I want to commit to this marriage. I wanted to even before I learned about the baby.” lied Grantaire.

 

Charla smiled before throwing up again. After pulling away from the toilet she wrapped her arms around him. “I'm happy that you've solved this.”

 

Grantaire smiled. “I am too.”

-

 

After Felix had left Enjolras received a text from the man. _Look pretty tonight, going out and meeting a friend of mine_.

 

“What is this about the meeting?” Enjolras looked up from his phone to see Courfeyrac storming in, closely followed by Combeferre. “You're canceling on us?”

 

“Um. Felix wants to take me out-”

 

“I thought you were going to stay away from that man. Keep your distance,” Combeferre added.

 

“I can't,” Enjolras' voice cracked.

 

“Did he threaten you?” Courfeyrac's anger faded immediately.

 

Enjolras looked away.

 

“Enjolras, did he threaten you?” Combeferre asked.

 

Slowly he nodded.

 

“Oh, Enj. I'm sorry. We're gonna get you out,” Courfeyrac assured.

 

“I can't.”

 

“Enjolras we won't let him do this to you,” Combeferre promised.

 

“He threatened my mother.”

 

“That bastard. That BASTARD!” Courfeyrac screeched.

 

“Sh, Courf, we're in public.” Combeferre mothered. “Enjolras, we're going to work this out. I swear.”

 

“He wants me to look good for tonight,” Enjolras said passing over his phone.

 

Courfeyrac took it and passed it to Combeferre. “Who do you think his friend is?”

 

“I don't know, but it can't be good,” commented Combeferre. “Are you sure you can't just leave town for the night?”

 

“I can't. You know-”

 

“I know. I just want you out,” Combeferre said.

 

“We can't all run.”

 

“What's that supposed to mean?” Courfeyrac asked.

 

“Felix. He's here for Cosette. She's his daughter. He wants to use her for his own political gain, so...so Marius got her out. I don't know where they're going but...but she's safe. She'll be safe,” Enjolras said blinking rapidly not meeting either of their gazes.

 

“Let's get you to the back,” Combeferre said looking at Courfeyrac with concern. The two men ushered Enjolras to the lockers, where he collapsed against the wall before sinking to the floor.

 

“She's out. I should be happy that she's safe. Why can't I be happy for her? What's wrong with me?”

 

“Nothing is wrong with you,” promised Courfeyrac.

 

“Why can't I be safe, Courf? Why can't I get away from him?” Enjolras sobbed.

 

Courfeyrac turned to Combeferre.

 

The other man knelt down beside Enjolras. “I think you have to go tonight, Enj. But after this evening we won't let him near you.”

 

“That's right, we'll have Bahorel break his fingers-” Combeferre shot Courfeyrac a look but he continued blithely, “and stuff them down his throat.”

 

“Just tonight, Enj. Then you never have to see him again. Is that manageable?”

 

Enjolras sniffled but he nodded.

 

“Just be brave one night more.” Courfeyrac said kneeling with his friends. “Do you know where you guys will be going?”

 

Enjolras shook his head.

 

“Well when you know text one of us. Someone will be there with you. We won't let this guy touch you.”

 

“He's never – he wouldn't – it was only the one time...” Enjolras said hand going to the bruise. “It was my fault.”

 

“Oh no. No. It was never your fault.” Courfeyrac said.

 

“It was. If I wasn't so weak and desperate I would have never have let him come into our home. I should never-”

 

“You didn't know.” Combeferre frowned. “How could you know what he would do to you?”

 

“He hit me because I defended Grantaire.” Enjolras confessed. “He was yelling at me because of my tattoo, it wasn't what he wanted...it got loud, he carried it outside… He was going to hit me when Grantaire punched him. Felix got me back into the room. He called Grantaire horrible names and I – I defended him. So he hit me. He didn't like what I had to say. Afterward he apologized and promised me it would never happen again. Um...we – we er… uh we fucked afterward. It was intense… he ended up… I – I...”

 

“Was it rape?” Combeferre asked softly.

 

“No. I consented.” Enjolras replied.

 

“Did he tell you to say that?” Combeferre inquired seriously.

 

Enjolras began to cry again. “No. I consented. I did that. I let him do those things to me. I thought… I just thought that if we did…If I let him that then maybe everything could go back to the way it was… So no. He didn't rape me. He didn't tell me to say these things. He didn't do any of it. I did. Me.”

 

“No. No. Not you. Never you,” Courfeyrac protested. He pulled Enjolras to him and kept repeating, “he did this. Not you, Enjolras. Not you.”

 

Enjolras continued to sob in his friends' arms.

 

-

 

That evening Enjolras put on his battle armor in the form of a suit and tie, however the Windsor knot felt like it was intended to choke him instead of protect him. Looking at his reflection in the mirror Enjolras barely recognized himself. He was too thin; the circles beneath his eyes were darker, and his cheekbones protruded farther out than usual. He was beginning to look more and more like his mother. The bruise on his cheek was beginning to turn a sickly shade of yellow, but Enjolras refused to cover it. He was ready to face whatever Felix had planned for him. Tonight would be the last night.

 

-

 

That evening, after settling his fiancee in bed and kissing her goodbye, Grantaire set out. He was headed for Valjean's where he would explain everything. He would destroy the last of his uncertainties and find a way to be happy in his life. He was going to be a father which left no room for error, no room for doubt. Tonight would be the last night.

 

-

 

Felix picked Enjolras up at his apartment.

 

“Don't you look dashing,” he complimented.

 

“Where are we going, Felix?” Enjolras asked softly.

 

“What, no kiss for daddy?” Felix leaned into Enjolras' space. The blond kissed the older man briefly. “Good boy. We're meeting a friend of mine at Olive Garden. It appears to be the fanciest restaurant in this god forsaken town.”

 

Enjolras nodded. “Let me just tell my roommate that I'm leaving.”

 

“I'll wait for you in the car. Don't dawdle.”

 

Enjolras ran to Courfeyrac's room where the other man was seething. “Did you hear all that?”

 

“Every word,” gritted Courfeyrac. “I don't like this Enj. I don't want you going.”

 

Enjolras looked at the floor. “We already decided that I was. Nothing is going to happen, Courf.”

 

“I know. I'm sorry, for everything.”

 

“Don't be. It's not your fault.” Enjolras' words broke Courfeyrac's heart.

 

“Go,” he choked out. “You shouldn't keep him waiting.”

 

“Tonight is the last night.” Enjolras wasn't sure who he was trying to convince.

 

Courfeyrac nodded weakly as Enjolras stumbled out of the apartment. Once he was alone Courfeyrac called up Jehan. “Hey, are you at work tonight? Great. Um can you look out for Enjolras, make sure nothing happens… you know… I hate this. I hate letting him go.”

 

“I'll look after him. If anything starts to happen...well I've got Parnasse on speed dial,” Jehan said.

 

“Thank you.”

 

“Of course. He's my friend too,” Jean reminded Courfeyrac softly.

 

“I know. I just worry about him so much.”

 

“You and Combeferre are like his parents. He's lucky to have you.” Jehan smiled.

 

“Not lucky enough. I wish we could have stopped this from ever starting.” Courfeyrac confessed.

 

“I think we all do. Have you heard from Marius yet?” Jehan asked.

 

“No, but I'm glad he's got Cosette away. The more I get to know her birth father the more disgusted I am,” Courfeyrac answered.

 

“Hey, I gotta go. I'll look out for Enj, send you updates.” Jehan said before hanging up.

 

Courfeyrac just looked at the phone. All he could do was pray, and he had never been one for putting his faith in the unknown.

 

-

 

Grantaire arrived at Valjean's house and was welcomed inside. The older gentleman ushered him into a large office that was warmly lit. “Please take a seat. So you were telling me this afternoon that you have a lot to work through and your deadline is tomorrow. Can you elaborate on that?”

 

“Um actually I think I've muddled through it on my own. You see Charla is pregnant. I'm going to be a father,” Grantaire said not quite believing it himself.

 

“Ah. That complicates things.”

 

“No it doesn't. It simplifies them,” Grantaire explained. “I didn't think I could be with her; I didn't think I loved her, but this baby needs me. I have to stay for him… or her.”

 

“You love children then,” Valjean wasn't really asking.

 

Grantaire agreed. “Yes. I've always wanted a family.”

 

“You said have to.”

 

“What?”

 

“You said quote: ' I have to stay' unquote. So are you implying that you have no choice in the matter?” Valjean peered at Grantaire over his glasses.

 

“Of course I have a choice,” Grantaire laughed.

 

“Then why did you say that? Perhaps you weren't thinking, then it is an honest mistake. Or perhaps it is a Freudian slip. If it is the latter then there are more serious consequences to consider,” Valjean leaned back in his chair giving Grantaire space to think.

 

“I – I I'm afraid you've complicated things again,” Grantaire said running his hand through his hair.

 

“I haven't done anything but give you options. It is your brain that is choosing to complicate things. Tell me Grantaire, if it wasn't for the baby would you marry Charla.”

 

“No.” Grantaire answered immediately before pausing and making a face.

 

“The answer surprises you,” Valjean noted.

 

“No, I mean yes it does. I came to you to figure out who I'm supposed to be with, I didn't know the outcome either way. So this baby just makes the choice for me.” Grantaire sounded desperate by the end.

 

“That's a dangerous mentality. If your life with Charla is unhappy down the road you may resent the child for influencing your decision to stay. You need to primarily want to build a life with Charla, you need to know that you can be content with her. For now consideration of the child must come second,” Valjean expressed tenderly.

 

“That's not fair.”

 

“Why put your happiness second to a person who doesn't exist yet?” reasoned Valjean. “Right now you need to look out for yourself. That's all I'm saying.”

 

“My brain likes to lie to me. It gets to the point where I don't know what's true and what's false.” Grantaire revealed. “These days I barely even know when I'm happy or not.”

 

“I see. I'm going to try something that may make this easier. I want you to close your eyes. Now imagine your life thirty years from now, when you are old and my age. Your children have moved away from home, and it is just you and your spouse. You've made a home together, and you are standing next to one another looking at the horizon. Tell me, who is standing beside you?”

 

“Enjolras.” Grantaire breathed. “It's always going to be Enjolras.”

 

“I think your decision has been made then.” Valjean said gently.

 

Grantaire opened his eyes slowly. “I think you're right, but my choice is Charla.”

 

“The baby.”

 

“She wants to abort it if I leave, which is understandable of course. But I can't let that happen. I'd be constantly wondering what that child might have grown up to be. I love Enjolras. I think I always will, but I have to marry Charla.” Grantaire persisted.

 

Valjean let out a weary sigh. “Even if you are unhappy?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“And your future wife and child? Will your unhappiness cause them grief?” Valjean asked.

 

Grantaire looked at his hands. “I won't let it.”

 

“That's an easy promise to make now, but-”

 

“I. Won't. Let. It.” assured Grantaire. He looked at Valjean. “I need to do this. I want to do this. Tell me it's the right choice.”

 

“That I can't do,” Valjean smiled sadly. “Not because of whatever opinions I might have, but because it is a choice you must make. It's going to be hard, Grantaire. If you've made your choice you must accept that.”

 

Grantaire nodded. “I know.”

 

“Very well then. If you and Charla ever need counseling in the future...well you have my number.” Valjean stood and began leading Grantaire to the entryway.

 

“Thank you for this. I mean it.”

 

Valjean smiled. “Certainly.”

 

“And a check for you,” Grantaire offered pulling it from his wallet.

 

Valjean accepted it graciously. “It has been a pleasure.”

 

“How is Cosette?”

 

The old man's smile vanished. “She is safe. Marius has taken her to Maine to see some of his extended family. They will stay there until Tholomyes has left town.”

 

“I'm glad she's alright.”

 

“Thank you. Good luck with planning the rest of your wedding, Grantaire. I hope everything works out for the best.”

 

“Thank you. I mean for once I'm feeling okay with things.” Grantaire let out a nervous laugh. “Maybe it isn't ideal, but I'm no longer questioning how I feel. I know, and I've made my choice.”

 

Valjean smiled. “Have a safe journey. Good night, Grantaire.”

 

“Good night.” Grantaire got into his car and headed back to the B&B.

 

-

 

Enjolras and Felix arrived at Olive Garden to find an older man waiting for them.

 

“Enj, this is my friend-”

 

“Employee,” corrected the old man.

 

“Employee, then, Inspector Javert.” Felix said with a forced grin. “Javert this is Enjolras. He's...well he's mine.”

 

“Former inspector actually. I quit the force and became a private investigator,” Javert answered stonily.

 

“Why did you quit?” Enjolras asked tentatively.

 

“I was responsible for imprisoning the wrong man for thirteen years. I couldn't bear the ignominy, so I decided to change professions.” Javert explained.

 

“Oh.”

 

“Javert has been helping me find Euphraisie for the past six years,” Felix said.

 

“I see.”

 

“The man she is with, Valjean, is very good at evasion,” Javert squinted. “It makes me wonder if he has some experience hiding from the law.”

 

Enjolras nodded, secretly wondering why he was meeting the ex-inspector.

 

“I'm sure you're wondering why you're here. Usually I conduct my meetings with Javert alone, but I thought you should be here for this one.” Felix started.

 

“Oh?”

 

“You see, I believe that charming friend of yours is my daughter.” Felix said darkly. “She's disappeared, and I think you know where she's gone.”

 

“Which friend are you talking about?” Enjolras asked.

 

“The blonde woman at your apartment last night. She's the spitting image of her mother, Fantine. I saw her today at the cafe, but she vanished before I could talk to her. However Javert here assures me that her _father_ ,” Felix sneered the word, “is still at home.”

 

“Oh.”

 

“So where has she gone?”

 

“I don't know.” Enjolras answered softly.

 

“Surely you must have some clue,” scoffed Felix.

 

“None.”

 

“She must have some friend who would be willing to help her?” Felix pressed.

 

“Cosette-”

 

“Euphraisie,” Felix glared at Enjolras.

 

“Cosette,” reiterated Enjolras before continuing, “has plenty of friends. How am I supposed to know who took her in?”

 

“Fine. I'm going to go find our useless waiter. While I'm gone think carefully, if you have any profound revelations be sure to share them with the good inspector. I want my daughter found, Enjolras, and I will not have you standing in the way.” Felix stood suddenly before storming off to find their waiter.

 

Just as suddenly, Javert dropped his facade. He leaned in closely to Enjolras and inquired, “is he hurting you?”

 

“Um.”

 

“That bruise on your cheek, it looks fresh. Whatever he has you believing is false. Senator Tholomyes is not a good man,” Javert said gruffly.

 

“Don't you work for him?”

 

“Kid, I've worked for him for years now. I think I know a little bit more about his character than you do,” Javert sighed.

 

“Then why are you still working for him?”

 

“A job is a job.” Javert said cryptically. As Felix rounded the corner, Enjolras watched Javert's back straighten; his face once again assumed the bored, serious expression it had previously held. “Any luck?”

 

Felix nodded. “I finally found someone to come, god I hate small towns.”

 

“Certainly. Though I do suppose they have their amusements.” Javert chuckled before eying Enjolras.

 

Felix smirked, laying a possessive hand over Enjolras. “If they can breed angels like this, then I guess they are good for something.”

 

Enjolras felt ill. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Jehan serving another table, the ginger caught his eye before winking. He could do this. Tonight was the last night.

 

“So tell me, babe. Have any ideas where Euphraisie may have gone?” The grip tightened.

 

“Um, yes actually.” Enjolras began stalling. “I just remembered that Eponine Thena-Gavroche, er Eponine Gavroche, a dear friend of hers, has a cabin down in Kentucky. The Gavroche family tends to vacation there a lot, and I know that Cos-um… Euphraisie has gone down there several times.”

 

Felix looked to Javert. “I didn't know of a Gavroche family here in town.”

 

Under the inspector's stare Enjolras shrunk. “That's because Eponine lives in the dorms at the college? I think that's how she and Euphraisie met? Anyway the Gavroches spend most of their time in Atlanta. Or their cottage in the Cumberland Mountain range.”

 

“Javert, go check that out.”

 

“You want me to drive to Kentucky, right now?” Javert's glare would have stopped a lesser man in his tracks, however the Senator only smirked.

 

“We're done with you for now. Go find my daughter and bring her back. I don't care whatever lies you need to tell the Gavroche Family to get her here. Hell tie her up and put her in the trunk if you have to,” laughed Felix, “so long as she isn't hurt.”

 

Enjolras turned white, but Javert never dropped his stony look. “Whatever you say, Senator.”

 

The inspector left them, and Enjolras was once again alone with Felix. “So after dinner, why don't we go back to mine and-”

 

“No.”

 

“No?”

 

“I'm done with you, Felix. I don't want to be with you anymore,” Enjolras' voice shook but his resolve held.

 

Felix raised a brow. “And why would you say such a thing?”

 

“You'll be leaving soon. I know I'm just a fling,” Enjolras said, “so why don't we end it now. No harm in dragging it out.”

 

“Funny.”

 

“Huh?”

 

“I was thinking of bringing you with me to DC. I know you want to get a job there, and I was thinking that being an assistant in my campaign could get you a lot of offers in the future.”

 

“Would I have to sleep with you?” Enjolras asked warily.

 

Felix laughed. “Of course. Why else would I bring you with me?”

 

“What about your wife?”

 

“She'd never need to know.” Felix shrugged. “I'm sure she's been using our bed to pleasure herself with plenty of DC's finest while I am away.”

 

“I couldn't play that role.” Enjolras protested weakly.

 

“And what role is that?”

 

“The mistress.”

 

Felix laughed again, before lowering his voice. “And what if daddy ordered you to come with him? Would you play that role then?”

 

“No.”

 

“Pity. You might have done Washington a lick of good. Too bad you'll never get your chance,” Felix said coldly. “Unless you accept my offer. I could put you up in a lovely penthouse, buy you all the pretty things your heart desires. All you need to do is say yes. Hell I might even share you around, who knows what favors the other congressmen would owe me, and you'll have a chance to make a difference.”

 

“I'm not going to DC to be your whore.”

 

“You're right. I should keep you to myself, never let another man lay his hands on you. Have you at my beck and call.”

 

“The answer is no, Felix.”

 

“It's because of Grantaire, isn't it.”

 

Enjolras shook his head. “You just don't get it, do you? You hit me. You've called me and my friends by terrible names. You use flattery to get what you want, and when that doesn't work you use intimidation. Well guess what? I'm done. I'm leaving you.”

 

“Sit down.”

 

“No.” Enjolras began walking away. 

 

Felix dropped money on the table before following Enjolras out. Once they were outside Felix grabbed Enjolras by the arm, yanking the younger man to him. “You're nothing but an easy small town slut, desperate for love. I've slept with a dozen boys just like you. Want to know where they all end up? Married to some unfortunate woman, pretending to be something they're not. They lose their looks, lose their power. They go out to gay bars and hit on younger, hotter men, desperate to be blown by them or to have the chance to fuck them, before they have to return home to their lie of a life. I don't want that for you. Come with me to DC and you will never have to worry about a thing again.”

 

Enjolras tried to pull away, began to struggle in earnest when Felix whispered in his ear. “I'll pay all your mother's medical bills. Just come with me.”

 

He stopped fighting. Felix smiled, loosening his grip. That was his mistake. As soon as Enjolras felt Felix's hand slacken on his forearm he ran. He knew it was stupid, knew he had no chance, but he couldn't let Felix seduce him like that. Not again. So he ran.

 

Sitting at the end of the parking lot, in the farthest pool of lamp light was Montparnasse on his motorcycle. “Get on, loser.”

 

“What-”

 

“Jehan called me. Said it was an emergency and that I was to get you back to yours. So get on or walk.”

 

Gratefully Enjolras got onto the motorcycle and Montparnasse drove off. Felix was left alone. He watched Enjolras disappear into the darkness, a smirk scrawled across his face. He couldn't be gotten rid of that easily.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the sweet people who left me comments on the last chapter. I haven't had time to reply, but reading them all made me so so happy!!!  
> Here's the update, a little shorter than usual but at least it's up on time. I have about two more weeks before I leave so I'm hoping to keep writing until then. Thank you to everyone who has commented or left a kudos, it really means a lot. Please continue to do so (comment that is...or leave a kudos if you haven't yet). The next chapter is already under way. Lots of love: ~T.W.o.W.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is super short, but I'm moving next week and am trying to write as much as I can before I go. Expect shorter updates, and/or a small hiatus. Thank you for your patience!

Eponine woke up early as she had house guests coming. Last night she had taken Gavroche over to Feuilly's, and had gotten him settled there. Of course the teenager was excited to be spending the next few weeks with the other man, which helped ease Eponine's conscience. However she still felt guilty, and wished her brother could have stayed to help calm her in all the madness. But now was no time for feeling bad. She had work to do. 

 

She aired out all the guest rooms, and made sure the beds were made. She also stripped both her and Gavroche's beds and put fresh sheets on them. She made sure the bathrooms were clean and had fresh towels, all before getting into a shower. She was exhausted and it wasn't yet ten o'clock. She had prepared refreshments the previous night, and only had just begun setting them out when there was a knock on her door.

 

She went to it to find Dianne and Louisette standing outside of two waiting cabs.

 

“You took a cab from New York City...to here?” Eponine asked.

 

Louisette giggled. “Of course!”

 

“It was nothing,” Dianne added coolly.

 

Louisette winked at her driver, an older man, “I made sure to tip him well.”

 

Eponine gagged slightly. “Um let me show you in.”

 

“Aren't you going to get our bags?” Dianne asked. As soon as the words were out of her mouth Louisette's driver hopped out of his car and carried her three bags and five boxes out of his trunk.

 

“Where do you want them?” he addressed this to Eponine.

 

“First door down the hall on the left,” Eponine replied.

 

“Ahem. What about mine?” Dianne was tapping her foot.

 

“You've got arms, carry them yourself,” Eponine retorted.

 

Dianne huffed. “You little cunt.”

 

Eponine frowned. “I'm letting you stay in my house, for free. I'm letting you eat my food, take over the only peaceful home I've ever known, so you might want to treat me with a bit more respect. Else you may find yourself sleeping outside, or worse. I may not have liked living with my parents, but they taught me a thing or two about hospitality.”

 

Dianne's face scrunched up about to say something else but Eponine merely walked away.

 

“Oh Eponine, your home is so lovely,” cooed Louisette. “Perfect spot to host an orgy.”

 

“Excuse me?”

 

Louisette giggled. “Oh yes, nice open floor plan, plenty of soft surfaces to lounge on...you and I could be great friends.”

 

“Um, thanks but no thanks. I've got plenty of friends already.”

 

Louisette shrugged like it didn't matter to her either way. Eponine shook her head, what was with these women?

 

And so began the next two weeks of Eponine's life which she would later call the Hell Weeks. Soon after both Catherines arrived in all their splendor, having rented a limousine. Their chatter filled the house, giggling at everything from the art Eponine had on her walls (some of Grantaire's earliest pieces), to her taste in furniture.

 

Cynthia arrived next, turning her nose up at everything. When she saw her room, she asked for a bigger one. When she saw the bathroom accommodations for the seven women, she laughed. She blatantly ignored Eponine's food and instead paged through her fashion magazine.

 

Mary-Lynn came last, a spectacle to behold. Of all the women she had the most boxes and bags. She complimented Eponine's home with large gestures and an air of southern charm. She stated how kind Eponine was, and how sweet while secretly thinking she would have been a better hostess. When she discovered that she was to be sleeping in Eponine's room she grinned.

 

“Does this mean we shall be sharing a room?” She sounded both eager and scandalized.

 

“I shall be taking the couch.”

 

“Oh I couldn't deprive the maid of honor her bed!” exclaimed Mary-Lynn. “We must share!”

 

“No really that's alright,” Eponine mumbled.

 

“If we're talking bedrooms, I want a different one.”

 

“What's wrong with yours, Cynthia?” asked Louisette rolling her eyes.

 

“It's clearly a kid's room,” Cynthia said in disgust. “A kid's room for a little boy.”

 

“It's my brother's. He's fourteen-”

 

“That's even worse!” screeched Cynthia. “I refuse to sleep in the same room as a teenager.”

 

“He isn't here. He's at a friend's,” Eponine berated.

 

“No. I demand to switch.”

 

“I'll take it, if you want the couch.”

 

Cynthia glared at her. “Some hostess you are.”

 

Eponine shrugged. It was going to be a long day.

 

-

 

Meanwhile a much happier reunion was happening in the midst of JFK International Airport. At the crack of dawn, Grantaire and his parents had driven into the city to pick up their guests. Bianca was coming home.

 

Miraculously they didn't have to wait long, and soon they saw Bianca running to them. Her dark wavy locks were streaming behind her, a smile lighting up her face. Walking behind her, with an amused smirk on her lips, was Bianca's girlfriend, Floreal. She was smaller than Grantaire's sister, with russet hair and hazel eyes. The look in her eyes was one of pure adoration, as if the nerves of meeting her partner's family had not occurred to her.

 

Bianca was pulled into a hug by both her parents, murmuring words of love to each. As she pulled away she looked at Grantaire. She smiled before practically launching herself into his arms.

 

“It's been too long!” she exclaimed.

 

He smiled, breathing in her scent. “I missed you too, Bi.”

 

She pulled away. “Omigod! I can't believe I was so rude. Mom, dad, this is Floreal, my girlfriend.”

 

Helene and Augustin shook Floreal's hand, respecting the French tradition that reserved hugs for the most intimate of moments. She smiled, and with a heavy accent said, “it is so nice to meet you. I can see where Bianca gets her looks.”

 

Augustin chuckled. “From her mother surely.”

 

“Oh no, monsieur, there is much of you in her too. Of this I am sure.”

 

“And this is my big brother, Grantaire.” Bianca said, steering the red head towards her brother.

 

“Please call me, R.” Grantaire said pleasantly.

 

“And the first thing he says to me is a pun,” muttered Floreal. “ _Incroyable_.”

 

Bianca rolled her eyes. “I told you he would.”

 

Grantaire just grinned. He took Floreal's bags, as his father did the same with Bianca's, and began leading them to where they had parked.

 

“So tell me, how did you two girls meet?” Helene asked wrapping an arm around her daughter.

 

Bianca smiled warmly. “Floreal works for the ballet company I am interning with. You should see her dance. She's gorgeous.”

 

Floreal laughed. “Except for when I fall off pointe because this beautiful girl is staring at me from the wings. _Mon dieu_ was that embarrassing!”

 

The family chuckled warmly.

 

“I still can't believe you got an internship at the Opera Nationale de Paris,” Grantaire said in awe.

 

“Well maybe if you ever came to visit me you would,” teased Bianca kindly.

 

Grantaire blushed. “You know I am busy.”

 

“Of course, brother mine. But I would love for you to see some of the work we are doing. Soon we shall start work on _Madama Butterfly_ ,” sighed Bianca in ecstasy.

 

“From the way she talks about it, you would think Puccini is her favorite composer,” Floreal said dryly.

 

“As if you don't love him too,” Bianca shot back.

 

“No dear, you know I prefer Tchaikovsky,” Floreal's eyes burned bright.

 

Bianca kissed her on the cheek. “You ballet dancers are all the same.”

 

Grantaire watched the two young women contentedly, with only a small pang of sorrow. If only… but no. He had made his choice.

 

“And where is your lovely fiancee?” Bianca asked, interrupting his train of thought.

 

Grantaire smiled carefully. “She was not feeling to well this morning.”

 

“Nothing serious, I hope,” Floreal added.

 

“No.” Charla had made R swear not to tell anyone about the pregnancy, at least not until after the wedding. She didn't want people to gossip.

 

“Wouldn't have been room in the car, anyway,” Augustin added. “Unless we strapped one of you kids to the roof.”

Bianca hit her father lightly. “That stopped being a threat a long time ago, papa.”

 

Augustin chuckled. “Can't a father reminisce about when his children still laughed at his jokes?”

 

“We do laugh,” Bianca added. “That one just wasn't particularly funny.”

 

“Grantaire?” the man asked turning to his son for a second opinion.

 

Grantaire shrugged. “Sorry, but I think I have to take Bianca's side in things.”

 

The young woman beamed.

 

“Oh you have him wrapped around your little finger,” Floreal noted.

 

Bianca and Helene laughed. The elder adding, “when Bianca was born you would not have seen a more doting older brother. He was always asking to hold the baby even though he was only four at the time.”

 

“So if I act stupid, we say it's cause R dropped me on the head,” whispered Bianca confidentially.

 

Grantaire shook his head. “I never dropped you, and you know it. If you hit your head it was because you were too busy chasing after me and didn't notice whatever was in your path.”

 

“I did chase after you quite a bit.” She conceded.

 

“You were mad for him, Bianca. Wouldn't do anything without him,” Augustin added kindly.

 

“Welcome to the family,” she laughed turning to Floreal.

 

The red head smiled before linking elbows with Grantaire. “I feel welcome already.”

 

The car ride back was filled with idle chatter. Bianca explained her internship in greater detail, Floreal often cutting in to make sure Bianca wasn't underselling herself. They both asked Grantaire about how the wedding planning was coming, and what it was like to be home again. They made for a nice little group, and in a confined space such as a car where patience can run short, they had plenty. Bianca and Grantaire made plans for the two couples to go out to dinner, as a way for her to get to know her future sister-in-law better. Finally the conversation turned to general catching up.

 

“And how are our friends?” Bianca asked.

 

“Our?” Grantaire asked with a smirk.

 

“Fine, yours.” She rolled her eyes.

 

“I don't understand?” Floreal said.

 

“When she was younger, Bi insisted on hanging out with my friends. She was insane, needed to be the center of attention,” Grantaire said not unfondly. “Anyway my friends are great, not that I've seen many of them.”

 

“Eponine?”

 

“She and Gavroche are doing wonderfully. I had forgotten how much I missed her,” Grantaire said softly. “She really was my best friend.”

 

Bianca smiled. “I remember her helping me get ready for my first date. She was like an older sister to me.”

 

“Really? I didn't know that,” commented Helene.

 

Bianca flushed. “It wasn't a big deal, just some girl from my French class.”

 

“That was sweet of her to help,” Helene murmured.

 

Bianca nodded. “Anyway, what about Baz?”

 

“Haven't seen him much, been pretty busy,” confessed Grantaire with regret.

 

“And Enjolras?”

 

Silence.

 

“Who is Enjolras?” Floreal asked looking at her girlfriend.

 

Bianca smiled. “He was Grantaire's friend throughout middle school, and long time high school boyfriend. He was my first crush.”

 

“What?” Grantaire stared at his sister.

 

She shrugged. “He was always around at our house when I was younger, not nearly as much as Eponine and Baz but still. Anyway he came over one day while you were still with Ep and asked to wait to see you. Then he indulged my fancy and let us play house. He really was a very sweet kid.”

 

“How old were you?”

 

“Um I was six maybe seven...so you guys were about ten?”

 

Grantaire blushed. “Oh my god, why did you never tell me this?”

 

“I was six, R, it wasn't like a serious thing. Besides it became pretty clear that you had a crush on him, so I wasn't gonna do anything to mess that up.” Bianca retorted.

 

“Oh my god,” whined Grantaire. “How is it possible that we both have had a crush on the same guy.”

 

“Oh relax,” Bianca laughed. “We were kids then, I didn't know I was into girls and he didn't know he was into boys. It's the past, R, it doesn't matter.”

 

“No one can find out. He wouldn't let me hear the end of it,” Grantaire said mock desperately.

 

This sent Bianca into another peal of giggles. “Alright, alright. So have you seen him?”

 

“Yeah,” Grantaire said surprisingly softly. “I've been to see Jeanne too.”

 

“How is she?”

 

“She doesn't have a lot left in her,” Grantaire sighed. “But I think she is holding out to see Enjolras married.”

 

Bianca nodded. “Is he dating anyone?”

 

Grantaire swallowed. “Not seriously, but yeah. I think he is.”

 

“And you're good with that?” Suddenly it was like no one else was in the car. Helene and Augustin stared out the windshield, and Floreal was impossibly still.

 

“Of course, why wouldn't I be? God, Bi, I'm getting married in two weeks to someone else,” Grantaire exclaimed.

 

“I know, I just thought that after finding out about the email-”

 

“Finding out about what email?”

 

She stared at him. “He hasn't told you.”

 

“Who hasn't told me what?”

 

Her eyes widened. “But I would have thought...after all this time surely?”

 

“Bianca, I don't understand.” Grantaire said desperately. “What are you talking about?”

 

She looked at him again, realizing that she had said too much. She let out a laugh, a little too forced, too loud, before saying, “this is better than an opera.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the sweet comments, they mean so much to me that I don't know if I can express how much. This fic is now over 55,000 words which is incredible! I didn't know that I had it in me, tbh...but I think it's been possible because of your support and encouragement. Thank you. I couldn't have made it this far without you.  
> ~T.W.o.W.


	19. Chapter 19

The rest of Saturday was spent at Grantaire's family home as he helped his sister and her girlfriend get settled. Helene and Augustin insisted on making dinner to allow the children time to catch up. They were shooed out of the kitchen which meant they ended up in the living room. Floreal had her arm around Bianca, the two women sitting on the couch. Grantaire was in the armchair directly across from them.

 

“So, brother mine, I hear you want to paint me,” Bianca said with a smirk. “Should I be flattered or terrified?”

 

Grantaire rolled his eyes. “Do you really think my art so bad?”

 

Bianca smirked. “No… but this is the first time you've asked me to model, what am I supposed to think?”

 

“It's for the centerpiece for my exhibit. I want it to be perfect, you know? I couldn't think of a better model.”

 

“Flattered it is,” Bianca responded by kissing his cheek.

 

“I think you had better tell us about this centerpiece,” Floreal said with a supportive smile.

 

Grantaire looked at his hands. “It's a triptych, and I want to paint three women. There will be one on each canvas, and they are massive canvases so I need to get started as soon as possible.”

 

“It sounds intriguing,” admitted Bianca.

 

“Three women? Are they the Three Graces? Or Thetis, Hera and Persephone, the queens of the Big Three? Or perhaps past, present, and future?” asked Floreal excitedly.

 

Grantaire smiled. “You know the classics?”

 

“Of course,” scoffed Floreal.

 

“Well it's actually a little closer to home,” Grantaire said looking at Frenchwoman. “I am painting the female personifications of _Liberte, Egalite, et Fraternite_.”

 

Floreal perked up. “Oh really?”

 

Bianca smiled. “And where did this artistic spark come from?”

 

Grantaire shrugged. “Who's to say?”

 

“Are you sure it wasn't Enjolras? I'm pretty sure the kid was obsessed with French history.” Bianca added dryly.

 

Grantaire blushed. “I may have been talking to him at the time… but I swear it's completely unrelated.”

 

“Enjolras,” Floreal murmured. “I think I should meet this boy.”

 

“Uh-huh,” Bianca said in response to R. “Right. So which ideal will I be representing.”

 

“ _Fraternite_.”

 

“You do know I'm your sister, right? Not exactly a fraternity we've got here.”

 

Grantaire frowned. “I am not renaming the piece _Liberte, Egalite, Sororite_.”

 

“Okay you're right that sounds bad,” admitted Bianca.

 

Floreal was just staring at Grantaire. “That's not the French word for sorority, you know. It's _association d'etudiantes_.”

 

“Okay, so I'm not naming the piece _Liberte, Egalite, Association D'etudiantes_.”

 

Both women just laughed. “Fair enough, that is a godawful name. But I'm curious, why did you pick _fraternite_ for me? It better not be for some dumb pun.”

 

Grantaire smiled. “In philosophy the idea of fraternity is a relationship of people based on love and solidarity. And yeah it often refers to a brotherhood, but in my life there's been no one who's been there for me like that except you. Bianca, you've always had my back. You've always loved me, and looked out for me. You symbolize what _fraternite_ means...and okay yeah it does make for a great pun cause you're my sister.”

 

Bianca smiled. “For a second there I was afraid you were gonna get all soft on me.”

 

“Ends the speech with a goddamn joke,” mutters Floreal.

 

Grantaire just grinned his most shiteating grin. “So are you good with this, Bi?”

 

Bianca's smile grew radiant. “How could I not be? I'll do anything to help your art”

 

At that moment, Augustin poked his head in. “Dinner's ready.”

 

The three young adults left the living room and headed into the dining room. The space was warmly lit; the smell of food heavy in the air.

 

“Chicken parm,” exclaimed Bianca. “My favorite! Thanks mom, thanks dad.”

 

“We know it's not nearly as nice as some of the food you've been having this past year, but-”

 

“Oh be quiet, mom. I love it, thank you!” Bianca said hugging both her parents. Floreal just shared a small smile with R. It was the kind of smile given between two people who care very much for the third.

 

“Please, dig in before it gets too cold,” Augustin said warmly.

 

The family sat down at the table. The conversation flowed easily, just as the wine did, and everyone was in good spirits. Grantaire even noted it, and everyone groaned at the joke, Bianca talked about how she had gotten lost in Paris' _Metro_ , and how she had to call Floreal for help. It would have been absolutely charming, if Bianca hadn't been so near a panic attack. Bianca insisted Floreal was her savior. The redhead merely laughed at that and recalled when she had first met Bianca. 

 

“It was rather disconcerting being watched like that,” Floreal explained. “I mean I'm a performer I should be used to it, but there's something about Bianca… _je ne sais quoi_ , but the way she watches… It is like nothing else I experienced. I guess I got a little too caught up in her gaze, and then I fell. I literally stumbled off of my _pointe_ shoes onto the ground. Everyone was looking at me then. I was so flustered.”

 

Helene and Augstin laughed easily as Bianca put her hand over Floreal's. Innocently she asked, “and when did you fall figuratively?”

 

Floreal frowned, and indignantly answered, “at the same time. God, I've never been such a sap to believe in love at first sight.”

 

Grantaire smiled lazily. “I think it's cute. You fell for my sister twice.”

 

“You don't have to remind me,” Floreal said pretending to be angry.

 

Grantaire grinned. “You're a good match. Bianca was always falling as a kid.”

 

“R!” Bianca sounded scandalized.

 

“Once she fell down the entire flight of stairs. We thought she must of broken something, but nope. Kid was made of rubber.”

 

“Stop talking now,” groaned the 'kid' in question.

 

Floreal laughed. “That's comforting at least. So tell me Grantaire, what is your fiancee like.”

 

Helene's laughter stopped abruptly. Instinctively she leaned in as she was eager to hearing what her son had to say.

 

Grantaire looked down at his plate to think before looking up. He didn't exactly meet anyone's eyes as he murmured, “she's alright. Probably better than I deserve.”

 

He didn't notice Helene's hand subtly tense, or the warning look Augustin shot to her. He didn't see how confused Floreal looked or how Bianca had a slight frown. All around the table it was quiet. Dinner continued, but no one really felt like talking much. Once dessert had been served and eaten Bianca rose and announced. “R and I will do the dishes.”

 

“But you're the guest of honor,” protested Helene. “And what about Floreal?”

 

“Don't worry, I'd love to take some time getting to know you two better,” Floreal said easily. She had seen how closely Bianca had been watching her brother. She had siblings of her own, and she knew what that look meant. “Let's go to the living room.”

 

“Are you sure?” Augustin asked Bianca.

 

The young woman smiled. “It's only fair. You and mom did so much to cook dinner. Let Grantaire and I clean up.”

 

Her parents nodded vaguely and allowed themselves to be ushered into the living room.

 

Once Bianca and R were in the kitchen she rounded on him. “Is there something you need to tell me?”

 

“What?” He blinked as if he were waking up from a dream.

 

“Floreal asked you about Charla, and all you had to say was she's alright? And better than you deserve? What is it you aren't telling me?” Bianca asked angrily.

 

Grantaire let out a sigh. “It's just been a long week.”

 

“R it's two weeks until your wedding. You should sound elated whenever someone asks you about your bride-to-be. You should want to talk nonstop about her and your future married life to the point where we're all sick of hearing about it. So why aren't you?”

 

“Every relationship is different. Not every groom needs to gush.” Protested Grantaire weakly as he began to load the dishwasher.

 

She put her hand on his arm. “Are you forgetting that I grew up with you? You would gush about anything you were excited about. In fact you never shut up. It's not like you to be so reserved.”

 

Grantaire sighed. “You're right. I guess I'm just stressed about this art exhibit in the winter.”

 

It was clear Bianca didn't believe him, but she didn't push the issue either.

 

“Hey can I ask you something?” he asked trying to sound casual.

 

“Sure.”

 

“That thing you were talking about in the car, the email,” started Grantaire slowly.

 

Bianca looked at him like a deer caught in the headlights. “Oh, that.”

 

“Yeah. The email you were referring to, was it Enjolras' break up email?”

 

Bianca could only nod.

 

Grantaire's shoulders slumped. “I figured. People have been talking about it so much lately, and I wish they would stop. I don't want to hold a grudge for him being an immature teenager. I get that he didn't know how to express his feelings back then. I wish everyone would just let it go.”

 

“There's something I think you should know,” his sister started softly.

 

“I don't want to hear it, Bianca. I'm done with that part of my life I just want to move on.”

 

“But-”

 

“No. Leave it.”

 

Bianca nodded. As much as she wanted to tell Grantaire the truth she had to respect his wishes. At least for now. At least until she knew a little more about the situation she had returned to.

 

-

 

Sunday afternoon, and Grantaire found himself loitering outside of the Cafe Musain. He had told Joly, Bossuet, and Musichetta to meet him there. It wasn't long before he saw a rental car speeding down the road towards him. Due to the velocity it was traveling at, Musichetta must be driving. Once the car had stopped, Grantaire's guess was proven right. The woman in question jumped out from the driver's seat with a huge grin on her face. After her came Joly, looking a bit pale and carsick, and finally Bossuet, happy as a clam. Musichetta led the way pulling Grantaire into a hug.

 

“I can't believe we're here at last!” Musichetta sighed watching Grantaire hug Joly and Bossuet.

 

“I'm glad you guys were able to make it. I think Charla would have a cow if these two weren't here in time for the rehearsals.” Grantaire said after the hugging had commenced.

 

“Sorry about that,” Joly said. “I wasn't sure I would be able to get off in time with my schedule. I wanted to give you the worst case scenario just in case.”

 

“No worries, you made it in time. That's all that matters,” Grantaire said. “I can't wait for you to meet some of my friends.”

 

Bossuet beamed. “Oh right! We finally get to meet the illustrious Eponine!”

 

“And is the mysterious Enjolras still in town?” asked Musichetta with a grin. “After all your talk freshman year, I'm _dying_ to meet him.”

 

Grantaire rolled his eyes ignoring the sting behind his heart. It was good to be surrounded with his friends again.

 

“And your sister. I don't think we've seen her in ages!” Joly added excitedly.

 

“There will be time for all of that. But first, have you guys eaten?” asked Grantaire with a smile.

 

Bossuet shook his head. And as if on cue, Joly's stomach rumbled.

 

“Well there's no where better than the Musain. I asked Eponine to meet us for lunch here, if you guys are alright with that?” Grantaire suggested.

 

“Sounds absolutely lovely,” Musichetta agreed. “Boys?”

 

“I'm game.” Bossuet nodded.

 

“I'm starving,” admitted Joly as an afterthought. “And yeah, I'm all for meeting Eponine Thenardier, the badass of Montfermeil.”

 

Behind them came a laugh. “Now I'm not sure where that nickname came from, but I like it.”

 

They all turned to see a gorgeous young woman behind them. Her dark hair was pulled away from her face, her eyes shining brightly. “I'm Eponine Thenardier, and you must be R's friends.”

 

“Ep, this is Joly,” Grantaire said gesturing to the short Asian man. “This stunning young woman is Musichetta, his girlfriend. And finally this is Lesgles their boyfriend.”

 

“Charmed,” Eponine said shaking each of their hands.

 

“Please just call me Bossuet,” Lesgles said with a smile.

 

“Let me guess, it's a pun?” Eponine asked dryly.

 

The four New Yorkers shared a look. Bossuet chuckled, “ooh I like her.”

 

“C'mon, let's go eat. I'm starving,” Eponine said with a smile. Joly offered her his arm, and the two of them lead the way into the Musain.

 

It was already crowded with people, as the lunch rush was at its height, but they managed to find a table in the back. Joly, Musichetta, and Bossuet on one side of the booth while Eponine and Grantaire were on the other.

 

“So what do you guys do?” asked Eponine once they had ordered their lunches.

 

“I'm still a med student,” Joly started. “but currently I'm doing a summer internship at several private practices.”

 

“What field are you interested in?” asked Eponine.

 

“Pediatrics.” Joly said, both of his partners were beaming at him with pride.

 

“That's awesome. And Bossuet?” She turned to the bald man next.

 

“Currently I'm working on animating little shorts for Youtube,” Bossuet said. “I mean they're educational and I get paid-”

 

“He doesn't want you to think he's useless, just bumming off us,” Musichetta interjected with a laugh.

 

Bossuet did look a little nervous, but he laughed anyways.

 

Eponine couldn't help but adore them. “That's really cool, Bossuet. I'm jealous, I wish I could draw.”

 

“Oh well I could teach you. I mean if you're interested.” Bossuet said shyly, all the while cringing internally.

 

“That would be awesome. Maybe there will be some time before the wedding.” Eponine smiled encouragingly at him before turning to face the woman across from her. “What about you Musichetta?”

 

“I'm a curator at a museum.” Musichetta said modestly.

 

“She's currently working on preserving some artifacts from Ancient Egypt.” Joly bragged happily.

 

“If you're ever in New York you should come check it out. We've got some beautiful artifacts from Hatshepsut's burial tomb currently on loan.” Musichetta added. “What about you, Eponine? What line of work are you in?”

 

“I work from home as an editor.” Eponine said. “Not nearly as glamorous as what any of you do.”

 

“Oh don't be silly,” Musichetta exclaimed. “That sounds like a wonderful job. What do you edit?”

 

“I work editing magazine articles. Occasionally I will have to go to Montreuil-sur-Mer for staff meetings and the like. Our offices are only about half an hour away?” Eponine estimated.

 

The meal continued with geniality, and an ease of familiarity. It was as if they had all known each other for years. Even after they had finished eating they just sat and talked. Eponine noticed Grantaire's phone buzz several times throughout the luncheon, but he had subtly shifted it to his pocket. She wanted to ask him about that, but she didn't want to embarrass him in front of his college friends and so she remained silent.

 

“So I'm sure everyone's dying to know about the wedding, but to be honest I'm more curious about your art,” Musichetta confessed. “It's been so long since you've done portraits. What inspired you to do them again?”

 

Grantaire blushed. “I was talking to an old friend who reminded me that I should do art because I want to, not just so that it will sell. I guess I had forgotten that.”

 

Eponine wrapped an arm around his shoulders. “And we're all happy that you're doing something for your self.”

 

Joly nodded. “I'm glad you're doing something that will make you happy.”

 

“So a portrait of Musichetta,” sighed Bossuet. “I always thought she deserved to be painted. Maybe in a hundred years someone will be curating her!”

 

“So I'll need to find a time in your schedule that will work…?” Grantaire said softly.

 

Musichetta laughed. “Oh please. You are going to be way more busy than I am in these next few weeks. I'll need to find time in your schedule.”

 

“You're doing me a huge favor, Musichetta. Thank you,” Grantaire said softly.

 

She smiled at him warmly. “I would do anything for family.”

 

At that moment Grantaire's phone began to vibrate in his pocket. He took one look at the caller id before saying, “I've got to take this, excuse me.”

 

Once he was gone, Eponine watched the three New Yorkers share a look. It was as if Joly was silently asking them permission before he said, “Eponine, you've known R the longest…”

 

“Yeah, why?” Eponine asked suddenly on guard, her facing darkening ever so slightly.

 

“We were just wondering what you thought of his fiancee,” Joly continued.

 

Eponine's face shuttered itself, the little light which was previously there was gone completely. “You've known her for much longer. Shouldn't I be asking you that?”

 

“Well you see that's the thing.” Musichetta said uncharacteristically soft. “We've known them together for ages. They've been an item for years, so...”

 

“We love R,” Bossuet added hastily. “We do. And we don't want to seem petty...”

 

“I think what we're trying to say is that together, the three of us are really happy. And Charla and Grantaire don't seem to be,” Musichetta expressed sadly.

 

“We just wanted to know what you thought, since we might be a little biased.” Bossuet commented.

 

“Biased how?”

 

The New Yorkers shared another look.

 

“Recently, whenever he was feeling his worst he would come over to ours,” Joly said softly. “He said that it was because he couldn't let Charla see him like that.”

 

“At first we thought it was him not wanting to worry her,” Bossuet added.

 

“But it kept happening. He kept making excuses about needing to recover, and just somewhere to lay low so we never asked questions. We just made sure there was always someone there in case he needed us to be there. Then one day the others were out and it was just me and R. I was in the other room studying and he was in the living room. Charla burst in and started yelling at him. I don't think she knew I was there. At first I thought she was just angry that he had disappeared without telling her where he had gone...but...um...”

 

Joly looked near tears. Musichetta laid a hand on his arm, before continuing. “She was mad that Grantaire's depression was getting in the way of his art. He apparently had a due date for a commission and he was falling behind. She said some awful things about R… and about us.”

 

Eponine's jaw tightened. “I see.”

 

“So you can see why we might not like her very much,” Musichetta replied. “We were hoping it was just a one time thing… that it was a bad day or…?”

 

Eponine looked at the scratched up linoleum table tears in her eyes. “I think he's being abused.”

 

Across the table Musichetta shared a look with Joly and Bossuet. “We were afraid of that.”

 

“Have you tried talking to him about it?” Eponine asked.

 

“Yes...but he didn't listen. He just laughed it off and said that he wasn't being hurt physically and he can't blame his emotional state on her...screwed up as it is...his words not mine. You know what he's like.” Joly said.

 

“I think it's gotten to the point where he doesn't even know that what she is doing to him is wrong,” Eponine explained. “At least he didn't.”

 

“What do you mean?” Musichetta asked.

 

Eponine sighed. “He told me he was going to talk to Charla, to call it off.”

 

“Has he?” Joly asked nervously.

 

“Not yet.”

 

Grantaire returned to the table. “Why are you all looking so glum?”

 

“I guess it's the exhaustion of travel,” Musichetta replied. “Mind if we head to our B&B?”

 

Grantaire smiled. “Go. We'll catch up later.”

 

They left, leaving Eponine and Grantaire. “Do you mind giving me a ride home?”

 

“Not at all.” Grantaire replied easily. They walked out to the parking lot where R had left his car. Grantaire noticed that Eponine seemed to be dragging her feet, hesitant to get in. “Is everything alright?”

 

“I just don't really want to go back there… all the bridesmaids are there and it's just,” she broke off suddenly. She began to put all her concentration into buckling her seatbelt, not meeting his eye.

 

“What is it?” He gently laid his hand over hers to get her to stop.

 

She let out a rough laugh. “Sorry. This is your wedding party. These women are probably your friends. I shouldn't be complaining.”

 

“Hey no. Whatever you're feeling against them is valid, Ep. I'm sorry they've run over your house, but Charla and I are grateful for all you're doing for our wedding.”

 

“About that. I thought you were going to call it off.”

 

Grantaire's grip on the wheel tightened. “I've changed my mind.”

 

“You seemed pretty sure, Grantaire. Are you sure she hasn't just changed it for you?” Eponine challenged, suddenly angry.

 

“She didn't do anything. God, Eponine, why do you always have to be so hostile?” he shot back.

 

“Just tell me. I know you're hiding something from me, Grantaire. I have the right to know.”

 

“Actually, no you don't. This is my relationship. What I choose to do in it is my business.” Grantaire retorted.

 

She sighed. “You're right. I shouldn't push… I just thought that after we talked…. I thought you didn't love her.”

 

“Love isn't everything in a relationship, Eponine.”

 

“She doesn't even care for you, Grantaire. No listen to me, just this once. She doesn't care about you. She only cares about herself and her career. She doesn't like your friends, or your family. She has made her opinions of us perfectly clear. She has no interest in your passions. She yells abuse at you, and yes, Grantaire, that's what it is. She abuses you and manipulates you, and you deserve better. You do. I know that you sometimes don't think you do, but you do. You deserve someone who will do anything for you. Someone who is willing to lose you for awhile in order for you to get what you need. Someone who will give up their own happiness so that you don't lose your chance at yours. Someone who is faithful, and loving, and kind. That's what you deserve. You want to know why? Because you are all those things, Grantaire. And Charla? She isn't. She's killing you, Grantaire. You deserve better.” Eponine said breathing heavily by the end.

 

Grantaire listened to her and let out a small snort. “And where will I meet a person willing to sacrifice that much for me.”

 

She looked at him. “I think you know.”

 

He remained silent for a minute. “There's something at play here, Eponine. Something I don't even know if I understand. All I know is that I need to stay. I'm marrying Charla.”

 

Eponine squared her shoulders. “There's nothing that will change your mind.”

 

“Nothing.”

 

“And what if a certain blond has feelings for you?”

 

“Are we talking about Enjolras?”

 

“Perhaps.”

 

“No. Not even he could change my mind.” Grantaire lied smoothly.

 

Eponine nodded curtly. “Fine. Fine. Then I guess I'll have to be the best fucking maid of honor you've ever seen.”

 

As they rounded the last corner to Eponine's home Grantaire slammed on the break, stopping the car abruptly. Huddled on the porch was a young girl with dark hair falling in front of her face. She was in ratty clothes, and appeared to be crying.

 

“Is that-”

 

“Azelma.” Eponine was already out of the car and racing to her sister's side.

 

Grantaire was about to get out, but his phone rang. It was Charla, and she wanted him home. Now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys this will probably be the last you will be hearing from me in a very long time. Classes start tomorrow and as a college student I will have less time to dedicate to our favorite woe begotten pair. Just so you know I do have a next chapter (although it is very short) but I will not upload it until I have the following chapter. Thank you for all the support, I really could not have done this without you. Be sure to leave a comment before you go. ~T.W.o.W.


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I promised this chapter awhile ago, but when I reread it I was unhappy with it and didn't know what to do. So part of the reason it is so late was because I spent time reworking it and making it longer. Thank you so much for your patience, and I assure you I am not planning on abandoning this fic. You just may have to be patient with me. Lots of love ~ T.W.o.W.
> 
> WARNING: mentions of rape

Grantaire rushed into the hotel room. “What is it? What's wrong?”

 

“I can't believe this.” Charla was fuming. “I just called the Musain to check on the progress of our cake and it turns out the baker is out of town! With a girl! Unbelievable.”

 

Grantaire looked confused. “It's two weeks til the wedding.”

 

“They should be practicing now. I got that young woman at the tasting to promise that they would practice at least once or twice and that I could come check on the progress. Turns out he's gone until who knows how long...wait a minute. What's that face? Did you know? Did you know and NOT tell me?” Charla said glaring at him.

 

Sheepishly Grantaire realized that in hiding Cosette from her birth father, he may have inadvertently sent the baker of his wedding cake to Maine. “Um...”

 

“Grantaire are you fucking kidding me? God you're absolutely useless! And why were you ignoring all my texts? I had to call you for Christ sake!” Charla fumed.

 

“Sorry I thought I told you I was out with friends.”

 

“You did, but remind me, which friends were these?” She raised her brow, already knowing the answer.

 

“Joly, Musichetta, and Bossuet just arrived in town. Eponine joined us for lunch.”

 

“I hate it when you're out with that polyamorous mess of people.” Charla huffed. “Jesus Christ! They're such a horrible influence.”

 

Grantaire looked like he was about to be hit. That's how Charla knew that she may have gone too far.

 

“I'm sorry, babe. It's just you were gone all of Saturday and Sunday. These pregnancy hormones, I think they're making me feel like you don't love me.” She pouted.

 

“I do love you,” Grantaire assured her pulling her towards him. “I'm sorry I've been out so much. You're right I should have been here for you. I'll stay in tonight if you would like. We can spend some alone time, just you and me.”

 

She laughed. “That's sweet, babe. But tonight I'm going over to see my bridesmaids. They arrived recently and I've been too sick to check in on them.”

 

Grantaire replied. “Oh. Right. Of course.”

 

“But you should stay here. Dial up some pay for view-”

 

Grantaire choked. “What?”

 

“Look I know what men like to do when they are alone. I won't stop you. At least not until after the wedding. And besides it will complete the sleazy inn aesthetic we've got going on in this trashy place,” Charla laughed. “Jesus, I can't wait til we're on our honeymoon.”

 

Grantaire just nodded. He knew it was better to keep silent rather than say anything. 

 

Within an hour or so Charla left to go over to Eponine's. She arrived and found her bridesmaids all in the living room mooning over the Bachelor. Everyone was there except her maid of honor.

 

“Where's Eponine? R told me he dropped her off,” Charla asked with a frown. She liked for all her ducks to be in a row, and hated when one had the audacity to not be where she expected.

 

“Out.” Cynthia replied not looking away from the tv.

 

“Yes I can see that. Where is she?”

 

“Her sister showed up here? Like she was a crying mess,” Katherine said.

 

“So Eponine went to talk to her, and then took her over to a friends? Not like we could fit an extra person here,” laughed Catherine. “Let alone an emotional high schooler.”

 

“Hm,” Charla was still in a mood. There was no saying where the Thenardier girl actually was. Charla was displeased, a frown settling on her beautiful brow. But as if her thoughts had summoned her, Eponine came in through the front door. She looked haggard and weary as if the world had dealt her another blow. “Oh, Eponine! I was wondering where you were.”

 

Eponine shrugged. “I had some family stuff to take care of.”

 

“I see.”

 

“Ugh. Things are too sombre. Let's drink. Mimosas anyone?” Louisette offered as she stood and made her way to the kitchen.

 

“I only have whiskey,” protested Eponine. Whiskey which she had let Gav try once, so long as he promised never to drink it on his own. Whiskey which she barely touched, and only in cases of emergency. Lord knew what a problem their father had with alcohol. It had made them both cautious around the stuff. On top of that, she had it hidden it away pretty well with all her unwelcome guests crawling about the house. The last thing she needed was to deal with them while they were hungover...although from the looks of it, they were already well on their way there.

 

Louisette sniggered. “Don't worry. I brought some from my own stash.”

 

Soon the bar was covered in glasses filled with orange drink. Each of the bridesmaids made their way over grabbing a glass.

 

“Come now, Eponine, even you,” Mary-Lynn charmed. “We're having a toast.”

 

Reluctantly Eponine picked up a glass.

 

“You too, Charla. After all the toast is in your honor!” Mary-Lynn chided.

 

“I'll have water, thanks.”

 

“You can't toast with water,” Cynthia said dryly.

 

Charla hesitantly picked up a glass of mimosa. Mary-Lynn and Cynthia eyed her peculiarly, but none of the other women seemed to notice. They were all too wasted already. Then Mary-Lynn turned to address the hostess, “Eponine?”

 

“Huh?”

 

“You are the maid of honor, confidant to the bride and leader of the bridesmaids. I believe you should be giving the toast?” Mary-Lynn prompted.

 

Eponine self consciously cleared her throat. The Katherines laughed at her. “Um to the bride…?”

 

“Is that it?” Mary-Lynn's drawl came out as a harsh accusation. “You're clearly a novice at this, do you mind if I assist? Ahem. To the bride's health in these coming weeks, and to her beauty and poise. May she not lose either after she's a married woman.”

 

The other women clinked their glasses together. 

 

“Cynthia, Eponine, Charla? May I have a word?” Reluctantly the three women followed Mary-Lynn to the other room, away from the boisterous laughs of Louisette and the Katherines. Once they were alone, “so what was that little stint with wanting a glass of water?”

 

Cynthia's usually bored expression disappeared, and suddenly she looked mildly interested. Eponine was just confused why she had been dragged into this.

 

Charla looked into her glass. “I am not usually a day drinker -”

 

“Horse shit.” Mary-Lynn interrupted. “I think it's cause you've got a little bun in that oven.”

 

“What?” Eponine turned to look at the bride. Charla merely downed the rest of her drink, not making eye contact with any of them.

 

“You're not supposed to drink while you're pregnant,” Cynthia reminded her coolly.

 

When Charla looked up she was no longer the meek blushing virgin she had appeared to be, now she looked pissed and vengeful. “As if I care what happens to this baby.”

 

The Mary-Lynn and Cynthia looked nonplussed. The former commenting, “so you are pregnant.”

 

Charla nodded. “Unfortunately.”

 

Mary-Lynn and Cynthia still looked unfazed. The latter calmly sipping her drink. Eponine was in shock.

 

“Does Grantaire know?” She asked.

 

“Of course he knows. It's his after all.”

 

Eponine nodded. It was all starting to make sense now. “I see.”

 

“Oh do you Miss Thenardier?” Charla taunted. “And what is it you could possibly see?”

 

Eponine stood her ground. “A lot more than you might think.”

 

“Jesus, I need another drink.” Charla growled and made her way back to the kitchen.

 

“If she keeps up like this she's going to have one fucked up kid,” Cynthia reasoned.

 

“With a father like that, kid had no chances of being normal from the start,” Mary-Lynn laughed leading the way back to the others. Eponine remained alone clenching and unclenching her fist. She understood Grantaire’s words now, and hated knowing the reason behind them. No matter what she told R: about Charla, about Enjolras, about the email, nothing would get him to leave that baby. Nothing.

-

 

As soon as the hospital was open for visiting hours, Enjolras went to go visit his mother.

 

“ _Mere_?” He said poking his head into her room. He saw her curled up in a fetal position, the hospital cot was barely wide enough to hold her sickly frame. She was shivering. With a sad sigh, Enjolras went to go turn the a/c unit down. He settled into his regular chair and was about to pull out his books to do some studying when he saw his mother waking up slowing.

 

“ _Ange_?” Her voice was raspy

 

“I'm here. I know it's been awhile-”

 

“Oh, hush, not that again.” She tried to shift in her bed, but she was tangled in her wires. Enjolras moved immediately to help her.

 

“There's actually something I've been wanting to confess,” Enjolras mumbled once she had settled again.

 

The crease between where Jeanne's eyebrows should have been deepened. “What is it? What's happened?”

 

“I've been involved with a man,” Enjolras started, not looking her in the eye.

 

“I remember,” Jeanne said softly. “What's happened? Did you two break up?”

 

“Not exactly. I tried to end it with him. I did. But he doesn't want that. He's been calling me all the time and...and he wants me to leave with him.”

 

“Leave?”

 

“Go back to DC with him, be his...” Enjolras couldn't bring himself to say it.

 

“Do you want that?”

 

“No. But he's made an offer that-”

 

“What?”

 

“He said he could pay for your bills, and I don't-”

 

“No, Enjolras. I won't let you do this,” Jeanne said sitting up suddenly.

 

“I don't want to, but Feuilly won't give me any more shifts...and I'm always so tired that I keep missing my shifts at the Corinth and Musain-”

 

“Enjolras you don't like this man, you tried to end it. Why would you want to go back?” Jeanne asked.

 

“Because it could all be so easy?”

 

“Oh, _ange_.” Jeanne looked sad. “Life isn't supposed to be easy.”

 

“I could just forget.” Enjolras sounded wistful. He remembered that night at the Corinth with Felix and Matt. Matt had taken something and looked so at ease, he wondered if Felix could provide him with that lack of caring too. Unfortunately he suspected if it was ever offered to him again he would take it.

 

“Never forget. Enjolras, going with that man will make you miserable. I can't let you do something that stupid because of me.”

 

“But-”

 

“No.”

 

“You're not thinking this through-”

 

“Enjolras. Don't you dare tell me that I am not thinking this through. Because clearly you aren't. Don't throw your life away to that man...don’t be like Fantine...”

 

“Who?”

 

“In college I knew this girl. She was beautiful and sweet, wanted to become a teacher. Anyway she met this man, a pre-law major, and she went mad for him. She stayed out late with him and his friends. They were horrible influences, and she was so in love that she was blind to my caution. She let him do whatever he wanted to her, so long as at the end of the day he gave her a kiss and promised that he loved her. She was twenty years old, Enjolras, and she got pregnant. She moved off campus with me, I was the only one to take pity on her. She had the baby, a beautiful baby girl. She loved her more than anything, we were all charmed by Euphrasie. She continued to go to classes as best as she could, and we did our best to forget about the father. Although I know she stayed up crying over him, there were many nights like that. A few years later we received a call from the father. He was about to get his first internship at his father's firm. He needed the child to disappear. He couldn't have anything on his record,” sneered Jeanne. “So we located a dear old friend. I approached him and asked for an unspecific favor. He said he would do his best to uphold it...a few days later we left Euphrasie on his doorstep. There was a letter explaining everything that had happened between the father and my friend, and it asked him to keep Euphrasie safe.”

 

Enjolras swallowed. “I see.”

 

“My friend said she needed a new start. She moved away, and I never saw her again. I don't mean to use her story as a cautionary tale, but Fantine had so much planned in her life, she had dreams. Even once she had Euphrasie she had wanted things for them...but because she had let someone else control and choose her life, she never got those things. Enjolras, please don't let someone else decide the fate of your future because of me. I'm afraid that if you do, you are going to have so many regrets. This man, whoever he is, he doesn't love you. If he did he would respect your wishes to end the relationship. He wouldn't need to emotionally blackmail you into going with him. That's not healthy, ange.”

 

Enjolras nodded. Although he knew the answer he felt like he needed to hear it from his mother's lips. “What ever happened? To Euphrasie?”

 

“My friend took her far away...I...I lost contact with them. I don’t know what’s happened to her.”

 

With a sense of dread he asked another question which he already knew the answer to, “what was the man’s name? The one who seduced Fantine.”

 

“Felix Tholomyes,” the name came of Jeanne's lips like a curse.

 

Enjolras looked like he had been hit. Of course he knew all this, had learned it from Cosette herself...but hearing the tragic story from his mother's own lips made it so much worse.

 

Jeanne saw the tears come to her son's eyes. She pulled him into her arms. “Whatever is the matter, love? What’s frightening you so? You’re shaking.”

 

Enjolras sobbed into her bony shoulder. He didn’t trust himself to speak. Jeanne's hand stroked his hair gently.

 

“Ahem,” came a dry cough from the hall.

 

Mother and son pulled apart to reveal the form of a thin, plain, young nurse.

 

“Ah, Nurse Simplice, time for my treatments?” Jeanne guessed with a rueful smile.

 

“I'm afraid so.”

 

“I'll see you soon, Enj.” Jeanne said warmly.

 

Enjolras nodded. He kissed her forehead as she was helped into the wheelchair and wheeled away. After studying for a bit he stood to stretch his legs and went for a walk. He was lost in thought, when he ran into someone.

 

“I’m sorry, miss.” He looked up, “Eponine?”

 

The young woman looked scared. She nervously glanced back at a closed examination room, before looking at Enjolras again. “Hey.”

 

“Why are you here? Is everything okay? Is Grantaire-?”

 

She shook her head. Eponine seemed to blink away tears. “It's my little sister. Um...she was on my porch crying...I had to bring her here.”

 

“What happened?”

 

“I don't want to talk about it.” Eponine replied. Suddenly, “God I hate my parents.”

 

“Did they-”

 

“Drop it, Enjolras.” All the fighting spirit left her. Eponine's shoulders dropped and she looked defeated. “I have to go back to my house. There are six tipsy bridesmaids currently inhabiting my it, and I don't trust them...but I need to look out for Azelma. God and I think Charla's coming later and-”

 

She began to cry. Enjolras' eyes widened and he pulled her into a hug.

 

“Whatever this is, we can fight it.”

 

Eponine let out a harsh laugh. “You and your fighting spirit. We can’t fight every battle placed in front of us. Sometimes it’s too fucking much, and we have to surrender. We have to give in.”

 

“I refuse to believe that, Eponine. Whatever it is-”

 

“Azelma was raped.” Eponine spat. The moment those words left her mouth she looked like she regretted saying anything. She tried to pull away from Enjolras, but he held her close.

 

“Who did this?”

 

“A guest at the B&B. My father was trying to make a deal, and he offered her to close it.” Eponine wept bitterly. “She’s pregnant.”

 

“What?”

 

“God, I hate him.”

 

“What can I do to help?”

 

“This isn’t some problem you can magically fix, Enjolras. Fuck, can’t you ever keep your nose out of where it belongs?”

 

“Eponine, this is serious-”

 

“I know it is.” She snapped.

 

“What are you going to do about it?”

 

“I’ll tell you what I’m going to do. I’m going to kill that bastard, and burn that place to the ground.”

 

“That’s not exactly sensible is it?”

 

“Fuck sensible, they’ve gone too fucking far.”

 

“Where will you take Azelma?”

 

Eponine paused.

 

“Back to yours?”

 

“I’ve got a lot of bridesmaids there, currently. It wouldn't be smart to have her there.” Eponine said in a carefully clipped tone.

 

“Okay. Fuck. If only Cosette were around. She’d know how to handle this.”

 

“Where is Cosette?” asked Eponine.

 

Again Enjolras felt a wave of nausea as everything fell into place again. “She’s running away from her birth father.”

 

Eponine nodded, her mind too concerned to allow her another distraction. “I don’t know where to take Azelma. She doesn’t exactly trust anyone who’s not family right now. Or no that’s not right. Fuck my family. She seems only to trust me, maybe Cosette, but she’s gone.”

 

Enjolras watched as Eponine’s face crumpled again as she contemplated what had happened to her sister. He pulled her into a hug and whispered in her hair, “it’ll be alright, Eponine. We’ll figure something out.”

 

“But what?”

 

“You said she trusts Cosette right? Would she trust Valjean?” Enjolras asked.

 

Eponine bit her lip considering it, slowly she nodded. “I think so. I’d have to ask...but...do you think he would?”

 

Enjolras nodded. “Yes. I think he would.”

 

The door to the examination room opened and a doctor stepped out seeking Eponine. She rushed over to the woman and they began to confer in low voices. Eponine seemed to grow older as the conversation progressed, but eventually she nodded and returned to Enjolras.

 

“Azelma’s just getting dressed...but we need to schedule an appointment for the abortion, and I still don’t know where to take her,” Eponine’s voice said breaking in all the wrong places.

 

Enjolras held her hand. “It’s okay, Eponine. How did you get here?”

 

“I borrowed my neighbor’s car,” she said dully. “Grantaire wanted...but Charla...”

 

Enjolras nodded, he didn’t exactly want to hear more about the detestable woman. “Alright. I’m going to call Valjean while you talk to your sister. It’s going to be okay.”

 

Eponine nodded. She left him to make the phone call and to go hold her baby sister in her arms.

-

Eponine drove up the long driveway that led to Valjean’s. The property was still beautiful, but it was showing signs of neglect due to its missing resident. Parked in front of the house was another car that neither of the adults recognized.

 

“Valjean didn’t say anything about guests.” Enjolras said with a slight frown.

 

“We’re here now. It’s going to be alright,” Eponine said more for her benefit than anyone else.

 

She helped Azelma out of the car, and walked with Enjolras to the front of the house. They knocked and had to wait only a minute or so for Valjean to open the door.

 

“Ah, you’re here. Hello Enjolras, Eponine, Azelma. Come on in.” He sounded weary, perhaps from missing his daughter or perhaps because of the sorrow of the young people before him. Despite that, he still managed to warmly welcome them into his home.

 

He led the three of them upstairs to a guest bedroom. It was clean and airy, the bed looked freshly made.

 

“I hope this will suffice?” Valjean asked turning to Azelma.

 

The girl nodded, her dark eyes flickering uncertainly from her sister to Valjean.

 

“Good, I am glad.” he murmured gently. “If you are in want for anything, you only have to ask.”

 

“Thank you so much, Valjean. I’m indebted to you,” Eponine said.

 

“Nonsense,” he shook his head. “I am happy to help. I’m only sorry that such dark deeds are what have finally drawn you to my door. You know you were always welcome before. I know how you and Cosette were...”

 

Eponine blushed. “I was embarrassed on my family’s behalf. I still am.”

 

“Those people don’t need to be your family if you don’t wish it. You may create a family with whomever you want. But I think you already know that?” Valjean said, a hint of his normal joviality returning to his eyes.

 

Eponine nodded. “Thank you. I, uh, I better get back...I’ve been gone for quite awhile. I’ll come check on you tomorrow, Azelma.”

 

The girl made no sign of hearing as she was already moving about the room in a daze. Her fingers ran softly over the edge of the bed as she seemed to study something not there outside the large windows. Eponine moved as if to go to her sister again, but Enjolras held her back.

 

“She needs to adjust. She needs to get comfortable on her own.”

 

Eponine looked up at him with a sad smile, knowing he was right.

 

Valjean led them out, shutting the door softly behind him. They made their way back downstairs and Eponine left. She explained how she needed to get back, since she had guests and was sure Charla would be stopping by. She had offered Enjolras a ride, but he turned her down.

 

“I want to thank you again, Valjean.” Enjolras said deliberately staying behind.

 

“It is not necessary to do so,” the older man assured.

 

“I have a question. You were friends with my mother, Jeanne, when she was in college. She came to you to take care of Cosette,” Enjolras said. “How is it that she doesn’t know you’re here?”

 

Valjean suddenly looked his age. “I met those girls, Jeanne and Fantine, while they were at college. That was far from this small town, I’d never been here, but I suppose I heard your mother describe it. Well when I left for England with Cosette I put our pasts behind us. I didn’t forget your mother, or hers, but there were other things at the front of my mind. As Cosette’s birth father circled in I knew we needed to escape. I remembered your mother talking so fondly of this place, or perhaps I didn't...but subconsciously I remembered Montfermeil and that’s how I ended up here.”

 

“And why did you never visit my mother? She’s been here for years. I’m sure she would like to see you again.” Enjolras tried not to sound like he was accusing Valjean of being neglectful. He failed, but the old man didn’t seem to mind.

 

“Like I said, perhaps I forgot that this was where your mother lived, and if not I had no reason to think she would return here. I am sorry, Enjolras, truly.”

 

“It’s not too late.”

 

“No. It isn’t.” Agreed Valjean.

 

Suddenly from the study came a voice. “Valjean?”

 

The door opened and out stepped Javert. Enjolras recognized him from his fateful dinner with the other man. He stood paralyzed like a mouse facing a python. Stupidly all he could think to say was, “you should be in Kentucky.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again thank you for your patience, hopefully I won't leave you waiting so long again...but no promises. If you want to help motivate me I recommend leaving a comment below. They seriously help remind me what I loved about this story and they keep me going. Plus I always love hearing from you. Thank you so much for your continued support, and hopefully I will have another chapter for you soon. ~T.W.o.W.


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter contains verbal and physical abuse.  
> -  
> Wow it's been awhile. (Over a year, if we're gonna go for at least some precision...yikes!) Just so y'all know its your comments and a dear friend which have inspired me to pick up this story again right now in my life. I always knew that I would see it to the end, I just didn't...don't know how long that will take me. I am very busy with school so I can make no assurances of when another chapter will be coming, but just know that it will. (Smash that bookmark button if you want to stay up to date!) I want to thank everyone who has encouraged me to continue or has been with me from the start. I intend to tell Enjolras and Grantaire's story fully and to the end.  
> xoxo T.W.o.W.  
> Ps: the format might be a little different from previous chapters, for which I apologize, but that is probably how the rest will be written as well.

Valjean looked at Enjolras curiously. “I take it you’ve met Javert?”

 

“I have,” Enjolras said coolly. “What are you…?”

 

“Did you really think you’re little lie about Kentucky would work?” Javert asked genuinely without malice.

 

“Um.” Enjolras could feel his heart pounding as panic knotted his stomach. His mouth was dry, but before he could say anything, Javert spoke.

 

“Look kid, for the past six years I’ve been working undercover for Valjean trying to find something that could get Tholomyes kicked out of office.” The private investigator explained.

 

“What?” Enjolras’ head was spinning.

 

“I’ve seen that man do some despicable things,” Javert said, “why do you think I tried to warn you about him?”

 

“But what about that whole thing about wrongly imprisoning a man...was that all lie?”

 

Valjean let out a laugh. “Hardly.”

 

“No, unfortunately that was true. How do you think I met Valjean? I promised him a few favors as a penance of sorts, and I’ve been working for him to protect Cosette ever since.”

 

Enjolras stood still in shock.

 

“You better offer this man some tea, Valjean, and maybe a place to sit.” Javert said kindly.

 

Valjean nodded and led Enjolras into his office. As soon as the blond was seated across from Javert he looked the other man in the eyes with a fierceness that had been gone from him for so long.

 

“What can I do to help?”

 

Javert ground his teeth. “This man is serious trouble...I am not sure I should be letting you-”

 

“I want to help. I need to. Please.” Enjolras begged lowly.

 

Valjean shot a look at Javert who nodded slowly. “Alright. I guess tell me your story from the beginning. I need to know everything.”

 

Enjolras paled, but he was determined. “Okay.”

 

“I’m going to go check on our guest,” Valjean said, giving the two men the privacy that this conversation, by its nature, demanded.

Javert was a good listener. At first Enjolras was a little intimidated by how Javert took everything in so passively. Nothing seemed to surprise him, until Enjolras began to describe the evening Matt. Enjolras wanted to avoid the dark deeds he had done that night, but as soon as he began describing the evening Javert looked interested.

 

“Say that again,” Javert spoke for the first time in minutes.

 

“I walked in the club and found Felix and another one of the dancers get high,” Enjolras said dully.

 

“Did Felix get high, or just the dancer?” Javert asked, his interest was certainly peaked.

 

“Just Mat – just the dancer,” Enjolras said feeling uncomfortable in his own skin.

 

“And who provided the drugs?”

 

“Felix.”

 

“And you’re sure of that?”

 

“Yes. I’m sure.”

 

Javert nodded. “That’s interesting. There has been speculation, suggestions of rumors, but I’ve never had concrete proof.”

 

“Is that enough to get him expelled from the Senate?” Enjolras asked.

 

Javert suddenly looked very tired, as if all the lies and deceptions he kept had added fifteen years to his life. “I don’t know, kid. Usually it wouldn’t be, but Valjean has some friends in the Senate who are willing to help us. If we can just get proof that the money he used for drugs came from his campaign funds...especially while he’s up for reelection, although there would be a hearing and we would need witnesses.”

 

Enjolras watched as Javert spoke to himself unsure of what to do. “These friends, could they really strip him of his power?”

 

“Yes.” Valjean said after entering the room. “I think they could.”

 

“And without his position and influence...Cosette would be safe?”

 

“We believe so.” Valjean said. He took Enjolras’ hand in his own, “and you would be safe too.”

 

Enjolras felt a sob rise in his throat. At once he was filled with a flicker of hope and an ocean of relief which could not dare extinguish the small flame. No, it was more like gasoline which once ignited would be difficult to put out and could at once light a whole city.

 

“Javert tells me that Tholomyes is rather abusive towards his lovers. If that is the case I can’t in good conscience let you go near the man again,” Valjean interrupted Enjolras’ thoughts, adopting a rather fatherly tone.

 

Enjolras felt his hope flicker, and although panic returned, it refused to go out entirely. He turned to Javert. “You said their would be a hearing, and you would need witnesses.”

 

“Aye.”

 

“And proof.”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Do you have any?”

 

“Only what you’ve told us. We’ve found a few other of his ex-lovers, but most of them are strung out junkies. They would be untrustworthy witnesses.” Javert said, his implications falling heavily on Enjolras’ shoulders.

 

“I’ll get you your proof.”

 

“Enjolras –” protested Valjean.

 

“It will save Cosette.” Then softly, “it will save me.”

 

The two older men looked at each other and then nodded. It was the only way.

-

Felix was pacing his hotel room unhappily. He had gotten a call from DC demanding he head back the next day. Several of his constituents seemed displeased with his absence, and required he return in order for him to receive their generous donations to his reelection campaign. He hated being on a leash at their beck and call, but he had no other choice. What angered him most was things were still unfinished here. He was no longer worried about his daughter. He knew Javert was a good hunter, and if he didn’t find her in Kentucky he would return here to wait. No what angered him was Enjolras. The boy believed they were through, believed he had gotten the last word. Felix was not okay with that. He was Enjolras’ master. He would be the one to decide when they were through, and as far as Felix was concerned their was quite a bit of life left in Enjolras. He still had his fighting spirit, and Felix would not give up until he had crushed it. He had had a lot of lovers, but none so willing to fight as Enjolras. It made his desire to control the other man that much stronger. No. He wasn’t ready to leave. Not yet.

 

His phone rang from where it sat on the bed. He looked at it angrily but when he saw who was calling he answered. “Enjolras,” he said silkily. “I thought you told me we were done.”

 

“I...I changed my mind,” the boy said weakly.

 

“Is that so?”

 

“Can I see you? I want to talk...”

 

“I don’t know, Enjolras, you treated me so naughtily last time we saw one another. Why should I allow you another chance?” Felix raised a brow.

 

“I was foolish. I thought about your offer and...please...daddy... I need to see you again. I ought to apologize in person. Please.” Enjolras begged.

 

Felix smiled. “When would you like to meet?”

 

“Tuesday?”

 

“It’s got to be sooner than that.” Felix said coldly.

 

“Then tomorrow. At the Musain.” Enjolras said swallowing nervously.

 

“Alright. When does your shift start?”

 

“Eight.”

 

“I’ll see you there at seven.” Felix hung up the phone a thin smile curling at his lips.

 

-

 

Enjolras set down his phone like it might explode. “We meet on Monday.”

 

Javert grimaced. “That’s tomorrow, doesn’t give us a lot of time to set things up.”

 

“He wants to meet an hour before my shift,” Enjolras said dryly. “No one will be there.”

 

Valjean looked concerned, but said nothing.

 

“You must wear a wire.” Javert stated.

 

“No. If things get intimate, he will know,” Enjolras argued.

 

“Javert this is insanity. We cannot allow the boy to do this.” Valjean protested.

 

“It’s the only way,” Enjolras said.

 

“Don’t be foolish. There are other ways we can go about this.” Valjean argued. “I won’t see another young person ruined by this man.”

 

Javert silenced Valjean with only one look. “Jean, Enjolras is not Fantine. He’s stronger than she ever was. He will be able to do this.”

 

Valjean’s jaw clenched, “we shouldn’t be sending children in to fight our battles.”

 

“I am not a child,” Enjolras protested. “I am a consenting adult.”

 

“This is insanity.”

 

“We are wasting time.” Javert interrupted. “This might be our only good shot to get this bastard for another five or ten years. Enjolras knows what he is doing, so respect his decision and let him do it. Now I need to call some contacts. There is a lot to do before tomorrow morning.”

 

Valjean nodded. “You better go home, get some rest.”

 

Enjolras sighed. “I know what I’m doing.”

 

“Do you?”

 

“Yes.” Enjolras lied.

 

-

 

Early the next day Enjolras was standing with Javert in the back of the Musain. He hadn’t slept at all the previous night, and his body showed his exhaustion.

 

“Are you ready?” Javert asked. “You can still back out if you want.”

 

“I know...but I need to do this. I need to stop him.”

 

Javert nodded sympathetically. “You’re a good man, Enjolras. You only need to be brave for a little while longer. I promise.”

 

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” Enjolras said dryly.

 

“You’re right. I’m sorry. It’s almost time. Now remember I’ve set up listening devices all over the cafe, and I have control of the cameras. Should you need help just say the code word-”

 

“Won’t that risk your cover?” Enjolras asked.

 

“Your safety is more important.”

 

“But-”

 

“No. I promised Valjean I would do whatever it takes to protect his daughter, and now you. None of my colleagues are close enough to help, so I’m your only back up. Don’t worry, Enjolras. We can bring him down.”

 

“Right.”

 

“You better get out there. Good luck,” Javert muttered patting Enjolras awkwardly on the back.

 

Enjolras entered the main room of the cafe. As a way to try and calm himself down he began to do his normal opening duties. He was just regaining his sense of calm when there was a knock on the glass door. Standing outside was Felix, and he already was beginning to look impatient.

Enjolras hurried to the door, his fingers fumbling at the lock. Once he managed to unlock it Felix brushed past him knocking him to the floor. Enjolras landed on his wrist wrong, and felt a shooting pain through his arm. Felix ignored his gasp of pain and loomed over him.

“What do you want, pet? I am losing my patience with you.”

Enjolras looked up at Felix. “I know. I wanted to apologize for what I said to you. I...I can’t live without you, Felix. You make the forgetting so easy.”

Felix smirked. “Is that so? You do know that I must return to DC soon. And what shall you do then? You’re already wasting away, pathetic.”

Enjolras struggled to his knees. “Take me with you. Take me away from this place. Please. I need a protector.”

“Oh? And what about Grantaire?”

Enjolras swallowed. “He means nothing to me.”

Felix bent over, grabbing Enjolras jaw sharply. “How do I know you aren’t lying.”

“Look at me. I am pathetic. I’m on my knees, Felix, I can’t live this way anymore...working three jobs, paying for my mother’s bills. I need you. I need to forget.”

“I can help with that,” Felix purred. “But what are you willing to do?”

Enjolras met his eyes. “Anything.”

“That’s a big promise. I want you to tell me just exactly what you are willing to do for me. After all I am risking everything bringing you with me to DC.” Felix stroked Enjolras jaw with his thumb.

“I’ll be your mistress. You can whore me out to anyone you chose, or keep me to yourself. I don’t care. My life wouldn’t my own, it would be yours. All I ask is to be able to forget this place.”

Felix grinned like a wolf. “Oh that can be arranged.”

“How can I be sure?” Enjolras asked.

Felix backhanded him, causing him to fall on his sprained wrist. Enjolras keened, as Felix knelt over him stroking the cheek he had just slapped. “Insolent prick, you doubt me?”

“The drugs you gave Mattie, could you get them for me?”

Felix laughed. “If that’s what you desire, pet. I knew you couldn’t say no forever.”

“How do I know that you can supply them to me, whenever I want to forget?”

“Oh, pet, when you’re a politician the money just rolls on in, especially during reelection season.” Felix chuckled.

“You use your campaign money?” Enjolras tried to keep his voice free of judgment. He knew once he said it that he had failed spectacularly.

Felix laughed cruelly before slapping Enjolras’ other cheek. “There’s still a little fight in you. Once you’re in DC you’ll quickly learn that that idealistic high horse you sit upon is nothing but horseshit. Money is money, Enjolras. Don’t much matter where it comes from.”

“You aren’t denying it.” Enjolras gritted his teeth. He was close and then he could let this facade drop. No more lies, no more fear. He would be free. He would be safe.

Felix shook his head. “No. I’m not denying it. I use campaign funds for whatever I choose. Those fools gave me money and so I shall use it as I see fit.”

“They trusted you-”

“Shut up, brat.” Felix grabbed Enjolras’ bad wrist, “if you want to come with me you had better learn to shut your mouth.”

“No. I can’t.”

Felix’s grip tightened. “Can’t?”

Enjolras let out a cry of pain. “We’re through, Felix. I’m done with your lies and abuse. I deserve better.”

Felix released his hold on Enjolras and stood up. “You may think you deserve better, but you’re never going to get it. You’re just a warm mouth. No one will love you.”

Enjolras tried to rise, the fire in his eyes which had been extinguished for so long was finally returning.

“You just don’t know when to give up.” Felix sneered delivering a sharp kick to Enjolras’ stomach. Enjolras collapsed, shaking. But Felix wasn’t done, he grabbed the other man by his curls and lifted him so they were eye to eye. “You’re gonna spend your whole life here, and amount to nothing. Your mother will die, your friends will move on, and you’ll be left alone, a pathetic shell of a man just like you are now. I can’t believe I slept with you. You’re nothing but a whore.”

Felix dropped Enjolras ungracefully to the floor, spat on him and then strode out of the cafe. Out of Enjolras’ life. Enjolras began to cry, whether from pain or relief he didn’t know. He tried to curl into a tighter fetal position but found that moving hurt too much.

“Shit. Shit! Enjolras? Enjolras! What happened? Oh fuck, stay with me. Enjolras!”

The last thing Enjolras remembered was green eyes gazing worriedly down at him and gentle caresses so different than anything he was used to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like I said at the beginning, I do not know when another chapter will come, but know that I am determined to write this fic in its entirety. I know (most) everything that will happen, its just a matter of having the time to write and edit.  
> Please consider leaving a comment as they mean so much to me and help inspire me. Thanks to those who have, especially recently, you're part of the reason I took this story up again. So leave a comment I like to know what y'all think and feel. Hopefully you won't have to wait over a year for the next chapter! I can't wait for y'all to know the ending.  
> Yrs,  
> T.W.o.W.


End file.
